Guardian Angels
by Mayet
Summary: AU/ After five years in hell, Oliver Queen has returned home with only one goal – to save his city. Unfortunately, nobody told him he'd have to wait in line. Rating for violence.
1. Chapter 1

**Guardian Angels**

 **Summary:** AU/ After five years in hell, Oliver Queen has returned home with only one goal – to save his city. Unfortunately, nobody told him he'd have to wait in line.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Arrow (or Eleven-Fifty-Nine would have never happened)

 **A/N:** I wasn't planning on posting this until I had a few more chapters done, but after 4x18... I can't believe that episode! Killing off Laurel after just saying she was going to be fine was annoying by itself, but that whole Olicity moment in her love confession really did me in! Laurel deserved better. She had been so badly written for a long time and now, when they were just starting to do better, they bloody kill her off - they weren't even subtle about it! You could tell for the entire episode that it was a goodbye episode for her.

Anyway, this is a re-imagining of season 1, in which we encounter a very different Laurel. She and Oliver didn't know each other before the island and he certainly didn't cheat on her with her sister (Honestly, I thought, what kind of hoops do they want these characters to jump through?!). This was supposed to be fun, occasionally updated AU. Now this chapter is a tribute to Laurel: she deserved better.

This will have _Lauriver sexual tension, flirting, maybe romance_ in it. I'm not just making this Lauriver, partially because it's set in season 1, but also because this story will feature a different Laurel, and I think she would have great chemistry with Oliver/Arrow.

 **Chapter 1: The Woman in Black**

He had finally made it home. As he smoothed out his suit in front of the mirror that was his one thought. He had always known he would return, because he owed it to his father to set things right. Failing had not been an option, but after everything he had endured, after being back here before, it still seemed like a dream to him that this time, he was finally here to stay. His thoughts drifted to why he was wearing this suit, his court appointment. He was getting legally resurrected. Oliver knew it was barely a formality, but now that the day had come, and so quickly, he was slightly daunted by what was expected of him. He would have to retell the story of the shipwreck, or at least the version he wanted everyone to believe. Another lie to add to the growing pile he had accumulated in the short time he had been back. Not for the first time, he cursed the stupid system. It was readily apparent to anyone that he was alive and well, but thanks to the system he required a lawyer and a confession to prove it.

As he made his way down the stairs to where his mother and Walter were waiting in the parlor, he briefly wandered who his lawyer would be. He remembered an elder lady, about his mother's age, to have defended him during his previous encounters with the law. He couldn't, for the life of him, remember her name. He let his sister tease him, and his best friend make light of the event. He needed that; Tommy's humor seeped through his skin and lightens his mood. After the previous night, and his harsh rebuttal to his friend's question of what had happened to him, he hadn't been sure he would see Tommy again so soon, and that was after Tommy had backed him up with the two incredulous police officers. Whatever Tommy's misgiving about his story about the man in the green hood, his friend seemed to have slept on it and dismissed them, and Oliver would be thankful for small favors. He caught a glimpse of the news on his strong-arming Redman into making up for his wrongdoings as they walked out.

The ride to the court house was mostly silent. No one seemed quite sure how to start a conversation, until his mother told him that it would all be over quickly, and then they could go to the company. Oliver smiled for her sake, all the while wishing it were already over. When they got out of the car, he was, for the first time, glad his mother had hired Diggle. With the reporters zeroing in on him immediately, his family and Tommy might have gotten trampled without his new bodyguard. He had no interest in feeding their avaricious hunger for headlines, so he pushed past them with Diggle's help, while his mother always stayed close by his side and Tommy and Walter covered them at the rear. The difference to inside the court house was enormous. After the endless, annoying chatter outside, a true hailstorm of questions bombarding him from all sides, the silence of the court house was deafening in its own way. While stormed by reporters, he had been haunted by images of Sara's death. Every question, every microphone thrust into his face was like a knife to the gut as he relived those memories that haunted him. Now, in the silence of the court house, he could breathe more easily again, though he knew the worst was yet to come when he faced the judge.

Oliver took a moment to look around. No one had stopped to look at them yet, no one bothered him with questions for now, and so he just stood back for a moment and observed his surroundings. A small, sharp part of him cased the building to map out emergency routes, but his conscious mind was focused on a few court officials, lawyers and their clients making their way slowly or hurriedly, but always as quietly as possible, through the stone-floored building. Matter of fact, there was a small group of three women standing right in the middle of the foyer, sticking out by merely quietly talking. Two of the women were carrying briefcases, marking them as lawyers to his eyes. One was softly curved with tan skin, and long black hair. The other lawyer stood with their back to them, so all Oliver could make out was long brown hair and a gray pantsuit. She had a hand on the third woman's shoulder – their client no doubt – and was obviously trying to assure her as she spoke to the woman, who seemed scared but determined somehow, in soft tones. Oliver was surprised at this show of humanity. While he vaguely remembered his mother and their older lady lawyer being good acquaintances, it had always been strictly business between her and Oliver himself. Then again, he didn't think the timid-looking woman was here for drunken driving or assaulting a reporter.

He kept looking intensely at the other lawyer, willing her to turn around and satisfy his curiosity in putting a face to the act and the soft voice he couldn't quite make out. He was so focused on it that he didn't realize his mother had moved, until she stood directly in his line of sight to greet the other lawyer. Swiftly, he moved to round on the group of women, ignoring the amused cough from Diggle behind him. As the woman turned around to greet his mother, he got his first good look at her. She had an oval face covered in light make-up. Nothing over the top, although the shade of her lipstick could certainly be called an eye catcher. She looked from his mother to him, and smiled lightly as she extended her hand to him. He took it with a small, suspicious smile of his own. He had seen her now, recognized the subtle lines of determination on her face, and his curiosity was assuaged. Now he was unsure why he was being introduced to her. How did she know his mother?

"Oliver, this is Miss Laurel Lance. She will represent you today," Walter told him as he joined their growing group.

"Really?," Oliver asked surprised. A brief silence followed, and he explained. "I'm sorry. That sounded... What I meant was that you look busy, Miss Lance."

"You're not wrong. I represent Miss Nocenti in her case for CNRI, but the trial only begins later today, and your resurrection won't take long."

"Promise?" Oliver asked cheekily.

She paused a moment to consider the answer. His cheekiness could be attributed to his philandering ways, and made Laurel want to roll her eyes at him. But that wasn't the only vibe the lawyer got from Oliver Queen. There was a tension in his shoulders that he might have been trying to play down. So she swallowed down the sarcastic remark that came to her mind first, and instead offered him a reassuring smile.

"I know this must be daunting, Mr Queen, and I assure you no one is here to rush you. Take as much time you need. Shall we?"

Oliver was taken aback by the concern in her voice as he followed her up the stairs. He had tried to throw her off, see how she reacted to pressure, and here she was turning it back on him. Was the anxiety in the pit of his stomach truly showing so much on his face that even a complete stranger could tell? He had thought that he'd been doing a good job of hiding that. He followed the others into the court room with a certain apprehension. He had gone over this in his mind more often than he could count, considered what to say and how to act, but now that the day was here, he had to fight to retain the ice and stoicism he had wrapped around his heart to protect himself and those he loved. He sat tensely on his chair as he waited for his cue. When he was finally asked to retell the events of the night the Gambit sank, he got up to stand directly before the judge's desk.

"There was a storm," he said, wondering how such a simple sentence could be so difficult to press out. He mentally shook himself. He needed to regain his focus, stay on task. They wanted him to recount the events that had stranded him, and he knew he had to keep it simple, even as the memory of watching the boat sink screaming for Sara threatened to overwhelm him. He was less likely to entangle himself in his own web of lies that way, and he doubted anyone would press him for details. After all, he had the advantage of public sympathy as a castaway. "The boat went down. I was the only survivor... My father didn't make it."

His voice caught. He could practically hear the gun going off again.

"I almost died. I-I thought that I had 'cause I spent so many days on that life raft before I saw the island." He could see it happening again before his inner eye now, and he felt the same bone-aching tiredness seep into his limbs, then that flicker of hope sparking as he thought back on how he first saw the island. It had been like a beacon to him then, his salvation. He hadn't yet known what hell would await him there. "When I reached it I knew, I knew that I was gonna have to live for both of us."

He felt the stricken mood of the audience behind him like something cold running down his back. He dared not glance back at his mother, Walter or even Tommy, not wanting to see their compassion, for it was most likely misdirected. He knew the man he had become probably didn't deserve anyone's sympathy anymore. Instead he kept his eyes strictly on the judges face as he finished up his recount.

"And in those five years, it was that... one thought that kept me going."

Laurel rose before any questions could be posed. She doubted anyone would press Mr Queen for details, but it was apparent how difficult this had been for him. Best to nip any further inquiries in the bud, so she started filing her motion even before she fully stood. Judging by how her client hang his head now that he was done talking, she thought he probably appreciated that it was over.

"Your Honor, we move to countermand the death in absentia filed after Mr Queen's disappearance at sea aboard the Queen's Gambit five years ago. Unfortunately, we will not be requesting that the declaration of death filed for the petitioner's father be rescinded." She saw him turn his head around to his loved ones out of the corner of her eye, and had to resist the urge to reach out to him – not to admonish him to focus on the judge, but to comfort him, particularly as she went on. "The Queen family is entitled only to one miracle, I'm afraid."

When they left the court room, Miss Lance apologized for his hardship and for having to rush off, but her case against Mr Somers was waiting for her in court room 117. The name rang a bell with Oliver for some reason, but before he could question her further, she was already halfway down the stairs.

"She is a lot faster in those heels than I expected," Tommy commented. "But she wears them well."

The two men grinned at each other as the made their way out of the court house. When his mother suggested they go straight to the company, he deflected her with a quick remark about his deposition just now. He wanted to find out where he'd heard the name Somers before, but he kept his list in his hideout for safekeeping. His mother and Walter seemed to understand. Tommy followed him out, and they watched together as Somers made an insistent statement of his innocence. Oliver almost smiled when he called Miss Lance's building a case against him a 'witch hunt'. She had been delicate toward him, but he didn't doubt her tenacity when she wanted to achieve something badly enough. Still, if his suspicions were correct, the young lawyer had gotten in over her head.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

Laurel was fuming as she and Joana made their way out of the court house after the first session of the trial was over. Joana was glum, too. She had listened to her friend make a passionate speech about the value of life for her opening statement, combining elements of ethos and pathos to move her audience. Somers had just sat there, his expression just serious enough to avoid looking callously blank in the face of Emily Nocenti's loss. They and Somers' lawyer had proposed their motions to the judge, and another hearing had been set for the next day. It hadn't gone too badly for them, but it had taken such a long time to even have the courts take the matter up that even one day's recession seemed like a punishment. Somers confidence was an additional thorn in their side. He was obviously very sure to win the case. Joana and Laurel knew that he had reason to, and they had also explained this to Emily.

The young woman had understood them, but she was intent on fighting for justice for her father as long as there was hope. She was willing to go as far as necessary, exhaust all remedies. And she might have to. Their evidence against Somers was circumstantial at best. That was the reason they agreed to make such an emotional appeal to the court in the first place. They saw Emily off with encouraging smiles, before going to D'Angelo's for lunch. It was still early in the day, so the place was mostly empty, giving them free choice of seats. The picked a booth near the large window looking out to the court house. When the waitress came, Laurel ordered for two earning her an odd look from the other two women.

"Ted's joining us in a little bit," she said by way of explanation.

Joana nodded. She had watched Laurel's relationship with her sparring partner with interest over the last three years. At first, she had found it odd that her friend would pick a gym in the worst part of town to train in until late at night. Sure, they worked in the Glades, but Joana had always made sure that Laurel was out of CNRI and on her way home by eight o'clock. The Glades were too dangerous at night for long hours, even for a cop daughter who had gotten self defense training since she started walking. It had worried Joana that Laurel stayed so late in the Glades on several nights a week, at the same time she'd been glad her friend finally spent her evening with something other than work once in a while. Ted Grant's training soon left a mark on Laurel, several marks actually. If Joana had not known about Laurel's training regimen, the scrapes, cuts and bruises on her friend would have worried her a lot more than they had. Her friend had always been fit, but now her muscles became more defined, but the truly striking difference lay somewhere else. It was so subtle that Joana hadn't at first noticed it. She seemed happier, smiling more often. Some of the tension she had accumulated due to their cases slowly began falling off of her. After a while, her friend seemed to glow as if she had found a new purpose. She had come to work with renewed vigor every day since. Seeing the change in her long-time friend, Joana had come to support her and Ted's close friendship, so she rose to greet him with a hug of her own when the man in question arrived at their table right along with their food. She had sometimes wondered why it never evolved into anything more, but Laurel was happy and that's what was most important. Of course, right now, she didn't look particularly happy, but Joana had something up her sleeve that was sure to cheer her friend up.

"How'd it go?", Ted asked with sincere interest. He had come around the office a couple of times in his spare time to take Laurel to lunch, or help file stuff, give them some information on what was going on in the Glades with regards to their cases – the parts the media and the police either didn't know or care about. He had even brought them a few clients over the last few years, including Emily Nocenti as it were. He and Emily's father had been friends for a while, with the older man using the gym to work frustration out of his system and helping out to get some of the kids with a rougher history off to a new start. He had described in minute detail everything Emily's father had told him about Somers over the years, how it made him hate his work, and hate his life, the Glades and the system, because they didn't allow him any other options. Now, Ted took one look at their sour faces, and grit his teeth. "That bad, huh?"

"It was just opening statements, but the trial already stagnates. Somers' lawyer moved to have the charges dropped completely, because of the circumstantial evidence. The judge shot him down this time, but it was clear that he expects a waterproof case, and we haven't got it." Laurel took an angry sip from her milk shake. "We'd need a miracle to make it stick 'like glue' as the judge put it in his office after the session."

Joana huffed, momentarily distracted from her original intention to cheer Laurel up. "Somers is slippery like an eel, nothing's going to stick to him, except a confession."

Laurel's eyes came to rest on her in a way that made the other lawyer uneasy.

"Oh no, don't you look at me like that!", she told her friend.

"Like what?", the other woman asked innocently.

"Like I just gave you an idea. Somers is never going to confess."

"We'll just have to work him hard enough. Put enough pressure on him so that he crumbles."

"Oh, and how are we going to do that?! With the evidence we've got we could barely scare a little boy stealing candy from the local kiosk... Especially if his buddies insist on giving him that neat little alibi, and I think we both know they will."

Laurel looked down onto the table, and began to tap her finger in annoyance. She then looked up to Ted. The two shared a glance as she mumbled. "I don't know yet. We'll have to corner him somehow..."

"Or we could hope that he's the next target of the Man in the Hood," Joana suggested, only half-jokingly.

"What? That guy is a lunatic!", Ted asked, harsher than necessary. At Laurel's admonishing glance, he raised his hands apologetically.

"Perhaps," Joana agreed, "but I've been meaning to tell you; remember when I had to leave you in front of the court room with Oliver Queen-"

"Queen? What would he need a legal aid office for?", Ted wondered.

"He didn't. I helped him come back from the dead, legally speaking. It was a favor;" Laurel answered calmly, shaking her head.

"Favor? They don't have their own lawyer, charging them 1000 bucks an hour?"

"The Queens are some of CNRI's biggest sponsors. It was nothing but a formality. Their lawyer has taken some personal time, and I had an appointment at the court house anyway. It was interesting, actually. I've never brought anybody back to life before," she waved it off, smiling slightly. She felt a tug, though, when she thought back at the traumatic events Mr Queen described during the hearing. It was terrible to have to listen to that, unable to do anything to help. She was pretty sure she never wanted to do something like that again in her career as a lawyer. She turned back to Joana quickly, before her mind could be consumed by the images Oliver Queen's statement had conjured, and before it could drift to other images of snow storms and mountains. "Anyway, you were saying?"

"Yeah, well, CNRI has been taking calls from the pensioners Adam Hunt had taken out to the cleaners all morning. Apparently, large sums of money corresponding to their losses have mysteriously turned up on their bank accounts over night, and the news reported that the Man in the Hood attacked Hunt last night in his office. So... as their lawyers, of course, we advised them to never mention this to anyone, ever..."

She could literally see Laurel's face light up with glee, even as her eyes sparked maliciously at the news of the attack on Adam Hunt. Joana mentally added an image of her friend rubbing her hands together and cackling like a mad scientist for a moment, before shaking her head smilingly.

"That's good news, at least. You should have told me earlier," Laurel said.

"I wanted to keep it in case you needed cheering up after the Somers hearing, which you did. It seems that Starling has another Guardian Angel-"

"Guardian Angels don't drop bodies," Ted interrupted her darkly, making the smile drop from Joana's face. He had a point she supposed, but he didn't have to destroy the good mood completely by being so blunt about it.

"At least he gets results. It's more than I can say about the police most days, or even the legal system."

They argued for a bit, but Laurel stayed quiet. She could see both their points. She might have agreed with Ted a week ago, but she couldn't exactly argue with the results Joana mentioned, even if she strongly disagreed with his methods to achieve them. She and Joana had prepared that lawsuit for months, all the while their clients had treaded on financially thin ice or needed welfare to pay their bills. The Hooded Man had managed in a single night what the police, the courts and CNRI hadn't been able to do for the better half of a year. The court case itself would have taken more months, and her clients would have been the ones to suffer from it. She may not agree with his methods, but she had the unsettling feeling that it would be as simple as Ted made it out to be.

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That night Oliver made his way to Somers' office at the docks wearing his green hood. He had been right; Somers was on his father's list of people who were poisoning his city, and he would put an end to it. While Ms Lance might make a successful case against him, that would take ages, and the people suffering from Somers' deals with the triads needed relief now. Even if the pretty lawyer managed to bring Somers down for one murder, the machinations at the docks would go on with his second. No, Oliver needed to tear up his organization from the inside to make the port a wholly unattractive location to do illegal business, for good. He stopped at one of the taller buildings, making his way to the roof to overlook the building structure of Somers' offices, so he could plan ahead for possible escape routes Somers might attempt – or that he himself might need to make a quick get-away if the police showed up.

He was mapping the area when he heard a commotion below. There was a short, high-pitched whine, followed by rough laughter. As the vigilante looked down, he might have rolled his eyes. A small woman in a professional skirt and blazer was being cornered against the dead end of the alley below the house by four men. The scene looked like a corny, overused stereotype they employed in movies so often, but this was real life, and while Oliver was focused on his father's list, he would never just abandon that woman to her fate. He cast one more glance at the docks.

"Later," Oliver muttered darkly as he turned around to deal with the brutes. In the half-second he had looked away, the air had changed completely, though. It was suddenly charged with something, some dark energy. Where previously had only been the clicking of the woman's heels and the shuffling of men who knew they had their prey cornered, now he heard metal tapping and a sure, quick stride that came from the darkness around the corner. The vigilante stopped mid-motion, curious and slightly unsure. Another figure came around the corner, a metal staff tapping against the brick wall of the building Oliver stood on. The form was wrapped in dark clothes hiding it from sight in the house's shadow, but it was too thin to be a man. He could make out a light, almost white point somewhere near the top of the figure. Oliver crouched down to be closer, to get a better look once the figure entered the light. The tapping stopped.

"Run," was all the figure said. The voice was distorted like his, but it was clearly a woman's.

The other woman whimpered, moving back and forth as she tried to find an escape route.

"You're not going anywhere, angel," one of the men said crudely.

"Yeah, she's staying right there," another one added towards the darkness with confidence, but Oliver could tell that it was a struggle. Apparently, so could the mysterious woman. She gave a dark chuckle that sounded even more eerie with her distorted voice.

"I wasn't talking to her," she announced amusedly.

"Who do you think you are?! Bitch!", one of the men yelled, grabbing for her in the shadows. He disappeared from Oliver's sight for a moment when the darkness swallowed him. His comrades yelled encouragement in a staccato fashion as they shifted their weight from one foot to the other. All they could hear where noises, grunts, crunches and clicking noises, then their friend tumbled out of the shadows holding his arm to his body with a whimper. For a moment, all anyone heard was the strong, sure tapping of female footsteps closing in until the light revealed a small, lithe woman in a blond wig and black leathers from head to toe. She was carrying a metal staff as Oliver had suspected, allowing it to swing back and forth in her hand as she approached the men casually. A domino mask obscured her face to anyone who might recognize her.

"Now, what, boys?"

For a moment, there was dead silence. The decision was made, though, the moment she chose to challenge them. They couldn't back down now, challenged by this tiny woman. They'd have to give her a lesson, and Oliver wasn't sure how that would go. He had heard of this other vigilante only briefly in a news report on his attack on Adam Hunt by way of comparison. She either hadn't been very active recently – perhaps due to injury – or she had never much made the news. He suspected the latter because when he had made subtle inquiries about her with Diggle and Thea, they hadn't known much about her either. First time they had heard of her, she had been nothing more than an urban legend over eighteen months ago, and to this day she seemed to have remained shrouded in that unearthly obscurity. It must be part of her strategy, just as theatrics and threats were part of his. This meant that he didn't know what to expect from her when the men attacked...

When the men attacked, the intended victim ran screaming around the tumultuous bunch, while the blond woman in black jumped right in. She swung her staff across the shortest possible distance to each target, ducking under or jumping over the attacks of the others. All their attacks came into nothing as she landed hit after hit. When finally one of them thought he had her by enveloping her from behind, he got his nose broken by the back of her head for his effort, and probably a couple of toes too from the looks of it. His hold lessened, and she swiftly threw him across her shoulder into one of his friends, then slammed one end of the staff into the groin area of the guy coming at her from the side. The whole sequence of actions was one fluid motion; if he'd blinked, he would have missed it. Her right leg performed a perfect arch as the man righted himself, struck him in the face and send him flying. She swung her staff around again to hit the other two men, who had disentangled themselves from one another, across the face sending them sprawling once more. This time for good if the sagging of their bodies was anything to go by. The victim had disappeared, three men were unconscious, and the Woman in Black stood panting lightly amid the crumpled bodies.

Oliver felt something tug at his face, and realized suddenly that he was smirking. She was sure something, this urban legend, though he was sad to see that the story of her wearing fishnets unfortunately wasn't true. So absorbed was he in the surprise that he almost didn't see the fourth man, the one she'd taken down first, approach her quietly from behind. The injured arm was still pressed against his chest, but the other one was holding a knife. Before he could think about it, he had cocked an arrow onto the string at let go. At the same time, the Woman in Black must have heard the muffled footsteps, because she rammed her staff into the man's gut behind her, turning halfway around to him. Then man bent over, dropping the knife instantly as he gasped for air, and the arrow went flying just barely over his head. The woman slammed her knee upward into the man's face for good measure, before turning around to face the vigilante. She looked up, he looked down. They couldn't really make out each other's faces, but they knew they were the focus of the other's attention. The air around them grew tense, but before anything more could happen, Oliver decided to get back to his mission, jumping clean off the other side of the roof to reach his bike.

It took him only minutes to reach the docks, and take down the first defense line that Somers had established. He barely noticed the guns firing around, though a cold, calculating part of his brain knew the bullets were for him. He felt supercharged with a dark alluring energy. The previous fight had put him in a dangerous mood, even though he only been a witness until right up to the end. Add to that Somers criminal machinations that had made hundreds of people suffer, and his blood was well and truly boiling by the time he reached the man himself. When Somers made a move for his drawer, and the gun that was likely in it, he planted an arrow in the desk just before Somers. He cocked another arrow onto the string immediately, and it took all his training not to let go another arrow that would go right through him, and instead stick to his routine.

"Martin Somers, you have failed this ci-"

Before he could finish, a silver staff came out of nowhere, knocking his bow and arrow down. In his surprise, Oliver let the string go. The arrow ended up stuck in the foot of the bureau. Oliver followed the staff's length with his eyes, not surprised when he found a small blond woman in black at the other end. This time he could even make out the details of her face that weren't hidden by her mask, so he could tell that she was scowling at him. So she had intuited his intentions and followed him? Or had they both been on the way to confront Somers, and merely chanced upon the same attempted gang-rape-in-progress? Oliver believed neither in coincidences, nor in fate, but he had not been in town long enough for her to have studied his movements to intercept him deliberately.

"I think he's gotten it, don't you agree?", she asked. "Particularly, after you hospitalized three of his guards and murdered another two."

"This does not concern you," he bellowed at her.

"This is my city. I've been working to make it safer for the last year and a half. Any attempted murder in it concerns me."

"Then why do you protect him? He's has recently killed a man, a father-"

"So bring him in. Make him face justice," she lashed out in return.

"I am making him face justice." His voice was a deep growl now, but she was obviously unimpressed, for all she did was cock her head to the side and give him a speculative look.

"Funny, you don't look like a blind-folded lady holding scales to me – wrong weapon too." It was meant to be a cheeky, even mocking reply, he had no doubt, but the distortion of her voice made it sound like the rumble of an angry sea. Oliver scowled. He hated the ocean, and he didn't discuss his actions with anyone, he didn't have to. This was none of her business. Just because he had watched her fight didn't mean she got to but into his. He moved to march right past her, but she grabbed his arm suddenly and spun them both back around until she was again standing between him and his prey. His scowl only grew deeper. She was getting annoying. He gritted his teeth. Somers men were easy, but he had also surprised them by attacking from the shadows. He had been through them practically before they realized he was there. She, on the other hand, was trained, as he had witnessed only a few short minutes ago. A fight with her could drag on, and they couldn't risk the police finding them both in middle of a battle. She had impressed him, but he had to act decisively.

They both noticed the scratching sound of the wooden drawer being pulled back. The Woman in Black slammed the end of her staff on Somers' hand as it lifted to raise the gun at them both. There was the scrunching noise of fingers breaking, and Somers screamed in pain. So she was obviously not opposed to inflicting bodily harm. Interesting. The woman tutted at Somers. Another smirk tugged at Oliver's face, but he kept it firmly twisted into his scowl.

"Be a good boy, and let mommy and daddy hash this out..." **(1)** , she admonished him.

Now Oliver couldn't help the smirk, even as he replied gruffly.

"We only met ten minutes ago. We doing co-parenting now?!"

She turned her face back to him.

"No, I guess not, because clearly I have to parent you too," she snapped back.

That wiped the smirk right off his face. He'd been so amused, for a moment he'd lost sight of his purpose there. He took a step back to be far enough away to cock an arrow at her, but she must have predicted that move. She twisted her hands around the ends of her staff, and when the middle part fell out, she kicked it up toward his face. Again, the arrow got knocked away, upward into the sky this time. Oliver cursed under his breath, because he didn't have time to cock another arrow onto the string when she immediately exploited his vulnerable position, aiming with one of her new, short batons at his hand holding the bow. He blocked the attack, and dodged the swing aimed for his hand, using the moment to punch her in the gut. She stumbled back, but when he tried to kick her, she twisted away. The momentum of her tight circular movement brought her baton down on his shoulder, making him spin with the force of the hit. He grabbed an arrow during the twist, and let it go without pulling the string fully back or even aiming first when he saw her charge him. She leaned away from it, even as she brought her baton up to deflect it. It embedded itself in one of the containers behind them. As she jumped him, she was planning to use the momentum of her attack to flip them both over until he was lying prone on the floor with her sitting astride him. Seeing it coming before his mental eye, Oliver pushed into the attack, and, with a slight twist of his hips, brought her back in contact with the wooden desk. He heard her grunt in pain, yet she reacted without hesitation by slamming the palm of her hand into his jaw. His hand came up to intersect the strike, just as her leg came around to throw him off her, just as they both heard the gun cock. The looked at each other, and he hoped to god she couldn't see anything in the shadow of his hood, then looked at Somers backed against the wall with the gun in his left hand. Without prior consultation, they decided at the same moment to roll over the opposite side of the desk, evading the bullet. They ended up on the floor with the Woman in Black on top of him.

"Great," she muttered, as they pressed together while Somers continued firing. Sirens blared in the distance, getting closer.

"And here I thought this was what you wanted?!", he smirked up at her. Instead of answering, even just with a glare, she took one of the small arrows on his sleeves, placed it in his hand and nodded at him. He understood without question. They rolled over again, so he could throw the arrow at Somers, and knock his gun away.

"Time to go," she told him, moving to make him get off her. He got up, looking for his bow. He had lost it in the fight with her at some point. Then he approached Somers, but stopped when he felt the woman tense up. He didn't have time for another fight with her.

"At the trial tomorrow, you will confess. You will tell everyone what you did. If I have to come for you again, she and all the triad killers in the world won't be able to protect you."

Somers looked adequately scared. When he turned , partially to leave, partially to see if he had gotten through to her too, the woman was gone. Oliver grunted, and made a run for it. The sirens seemed to blaring right in his ear by that point.

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An hour later, he quietly closed the front door of the Queen Mansion behind him. He had briefly thought about climbing onto the balcony of his roof, but the night had exhausted him. He had been prepared to fight his way through mob gangsters. He had not expected to meet someone who could match him, punch for punch. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. He hadn't been this sore since he first started training with Yao Fei and then Slade. His frown deepened as he thought of the two who had made him the man he was now. They and Shado had created the man in the Hood. Without them, he could not hope to save his city, and yet he had brought all three of them nothing but blood and death. Two had been killed before his eyes. One he had destroyed himself. Now all he could do was honor their memory by putting their training to good use.

He made his way into the living room where he found Diggle and his mother arguing once more over where he might have gone. Their attention shifted to him when he entered the room, and his mother questioned him without preamble on where he had gone and what he had been doing. This, Oliver was prepared for. He'd had ample time in the last five years to come up with excuses his family and friends would believe without batting an eyelash. He ducked his head a little to be more convincing and grinned.

"Mom, I've been alone on an island for five years."

"I know, Oliver-"

"Mom, I was _alone_ ," he repeated softly, yet with emphasis, giving her a suggestive look.

"Oh," was all his mother could force out at first, even as he saw Diggle role his eyes. Oliver wasn't sure the man believed him.

"I promise to introduce her to you if it ever gets to the first names exchanging state," he added awkwardly for his mother, though he might have bit his tongue right afterward as no one needed him to be introduced in this city. His mother, thankfully, overlooked this slight incongruence in her agitated state, in favor of demanding him to bring Diggle along on his excursions instead. Once Oliver assured her that he would, she left the two men alone. Oliver looked over to Diggle to assess the situation. He had given his mother his word, but he could hardly drag Diggle with him into the gunfights and pretend it was just for an illicit affair. Still, part of him felt badly for his new bodyguard. It wasn't Diggle's fault that Oliver would have to disappear for a couple of hours on a semi-regular basis from now on.

"I'm sorry to have given you such grief," he apologized half-heartedly.

"I've served for five years with the special forces in Afghanistan, Mr Queen. You don't even come close to my definition of grief," the other man countered quickly. Oliver suspected he could change Diggle's mind about that if he gave him a taste of this new life the billionaire now lived. "But one thing should be clear: if you ditch me again, no one will have to fire me. I'll quit."

Oliver inclined his head to signal that he understood even as Diggle walked right past him without another glance. The former castaway stood motionless for a moment as if waiting, hoping for Diggle to return, so they could find a solution. He wanted to find a solution that suited them both. One that would allow him to continue his crusade against his father's corrupt friends. A noise alerted him to another presence, and Olive shook his head free of his darkening thoughts. He looked up, not sure what he was expecting. Diggle or Thea or his mother, someone else ready to chew him out for disappearing again. He really should have climbed the wall and sneaked back into his room. The look of surprise on his face was sincere when he found his step-father walking up to him instead. Walter came to a stop less than two feet away, and his expression made Oliver tense. It seem to hover somewhere between uncertainty, understanding and disapproval. Oliver cocked his head, waiting for the other man to speak first.

"Your mother told me you escaped Mr Diggle for amorous adventures, but six hours would have been a lot even for your old self," the older man said evenly.

"Then I guess you didn't know my old self very well," Oliver replied, trying the cheeky approach. He knew most people backed off if you confirmed a preformed opinion they had of you. He trusted Walter would be disappointed enough in his lack of maturing that he'd drop the subject, but it seemed he was out of luck once more tonight when Walter's stern gaze only narrowed. Subsequently, Oliver amended. "But, you're right, I didn't spend the last six hours... I came back a while ago. I just wanted to be alone – literally. With my father. I went to his grave in the garden, figuring I wouldn't need a bodyguard for that."

"No, you wouldn't...," Walter agreed a little too quickly. Now Oliver's eyes narrowed. "Which is why I looked there for you first."

Oliver cursed under his breath. He realized climbing the wall would have been the easier way. He had nothing to say to Walter's unsaid accusation, so he said nothing. The two men stared at each other in fraught silence, but Oliver was not the boy who had left on the Queen's Gambit. That Oliver had been a spoiled rich brat. The man he was now had thugs and professional assassins crawling back into the shadowed alleys from which they came, or soon would. Something of that must have shown on his face, because eventually Walter broke eye contact and even turned his body away from Oliver.

"I know this situation must be new and difficult for you, Oliver, and I'm probably the last person who should tell you this... but you cannot behave this way. You were abducted on your first day home, and Moira is understandably worried."

Oliver twitched uncomfortably. This was too personal. He had only just discovered his mother's new marriage, and while he had outwardly made his peace with it, and while he knew Walter was a good man and that his mother deserved to be happy, he wasn't ready to have any profound discussion with the man. Certainly not about his mother...

"Walter," he interjected tensely. His stepfather turned around swiftly, his face stern.

"You agreed to Mr Diggle's protection, Oliver!"

This made Oliver flinch again, because he knew Walter was right. Since he hadn't really wanted a bodyguard, he should not have given in so easily when his mother insisted. He should have said something. Instead he had accepted, and now he was going back on his word to his mother, and Walter was her husband. It was natural for him to be upset at Oliver making her worry. He realized he thought more highly of the man for confronting him about it, though he had first wholly resented the presumption behind this discussion.

"I know. I've just been alone for so long-"

"I heard!", Walter interrupted him exasperatedly.

"No, I mean alone. I've been entirely self-reliant for the last five years. To rely on someone else now, for whatever reason...," Oliver argued back heatedly. "And then the Gambit. Everyone died when it went down. Everyone except me... Everyone around me died, Walter. Sometimes, even being near someone- I can't. I just can't..."

Walter started at the revelation.

"Is that why you won't let your family in, Oliver? You think they'll get hurt."

Oliver sighed, running a hand through his already messy hair again. Another lie, another half-truth that would weigh on his conscience. Walter would no doubt pass it along to his mother, not that she would ever confront him about it, and they would both back off. Hopefully.

"I know it's stupid, but I- I can't stand the thought, you know. Sometimes it's all I can think about," he finally admitted. "I want my family safe. Even from me."

When Walter came closer to place a hand on his shoulder, the look in his eyes had changed. It was softer, and his entire face seemed to have relaxed a bit. Oliver had to suppress a wince at the touch as Walter had inadvertently picked the exact spot the other vigilante's baton had made contact with his shoulder. He distracted himself from the surge of pain by searching for a trace of pity on his step-father's face, but he found none. It calmed the storm raging inside of him if only a little. The storm had never left him since his father's confession, and Oliver suspected it never would until he righted all the wrongs his father had done.

"It's not your fault, Oliver, but I suspect you know that. I know it doesn't make you feel less guilty for surviving when other's were not so fortunate. I can't imagine how that must burden you... But you're here now, and your family has waited so long for you to be returned to them. Now you're here, and you seem to have never left that island."

Oliver nodded minutely. He knew what Walter meant, only his step-father didn't know it had been wholly intentional.

"Take the time you need, but try to return to them," Walter asked, then added an afterthought. "To return home. Perhaps you need to do this in reverse order, to start with someone else... but you need someone."

"Thea said that, too."

Walter smiled.

"She's a clever girl... Now, in consideration of Mr Diggle's threat to quit should you abandon him again, perhaps it would be best if we didn't mention your little stroll through the family garden."

They shared a small smile. Oliver could get on board with that. The two men went their separate ways, and as Oliver climbed the stairs to his room, his mind went back to the part of the conversation that had made him most uncomfortable. Why had he agreed to take Diggle on as his bodyguard? He knew he didn't need, nor want one. The man would only interfere with his nighttime activities. Every time he wanted to go patrolling or scratch another name off the list, he'd have to find a way to get away from the former soldier. He continued to muse on the matter as he unbuttoned his shirt. And if Diggle really quit, then he'd have to get used to another bodyguard and his mannerisms, and then likely another and then another, for no one would last very long with him constantly disappearing on them. Either they'd quit, or his mother would fire them as she had threatened to do with Diggle. Oliver had instinctively prevented that from happening, though he was unsure as to what purpose that may have served. Point was, he would have to find a way to come to an arrangement with Diggle if he wanted his vigilante activity to run smoothly.

A vague idea began to form in his mind and consolidate into a plan as he finally turned in front of the mirror to examine the bruise on his shoulder. It had already turned into an ugly shade of purple, and the shoulder was slightly swollen, too. That girl certainly packed a punch. He grabbed some ointment from his bathroom to apply to the bruise. He didn't usually bother for something so trivial , but he had a feeling he'd be getting more of these if they ran into each other again. Which was likely considering her extreme aversion to his methods, and pronounced interest in seeing Martin Somers safely to court. This would no doubt extend to others he would target after Somers confessed tomorrow. If he confessed tomorrow, but Oliver preferred not to think about that. He concentrated on the woman as she posed the bigger problem, should she decide to make it her business to get in his way. He didn't like the idea of another vigilante in town, and it had shocked him to know she had been active so long before his return. He could hardly tell her to put down the mantle, and let him handle it from here on out, particularly considering their disagreement this evening.

He could take her down, he supposed, and hand her over to the police, but Oliver thought that measure might be a bit extreme after crossing blades exactly once. That was also assuming that he wouldn't be exposed in the very same fight. They had seemed evenly matched tonight, although he hadn't been giving it his all, but neither could he tell if she had. He had prepared to fight criminals in the last five years, not blond chicks in tight leather outfits, even if they tried to smash his head in with a metal baton. It would be quite a risk to take to try to expose her. He'd rather see if they couldn't stay out of each other's way first. The men on his father's list were still striving despite her activity in the past year and more, so she didn't seem to go after big mob bosses on a regular basis. Briefly, he wondered what had made Somers so special, but perhaps she had just followed him somehow. If she indeed stuck to street crime, they might be able to coexist after all. Those were just the symptoms of the cancer recorded in the list, and he was fighting the cancer itself. He had no time to chase after petty criminals, though like tonight he doubted he would ignore it if it happened right in front of him. It would seem he'd have to come to an arrangement with the Woman in Black, also.

With that, he sank onto the bed and into fitful sleep.

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When Laurel tiredly reached her lair, _he_ was waiting for her with ointment and bandages in case she was bleeding. She wasn't. She slipped of her leather jacket to reveal any number of bruises covering her torso, but the skin wasn't broken anywhere. A part of her just wanted to take a shower and crawl under a blanket, but she knew he wanted to talk about what he'd heard through the coms with which they stayed in contact while she was out. So she sat down on the gurney they had placed at the center of four three metal shelves forming a U. The shelves were stocked with medical equipment, an array of weapons ranging from batons and staffs to throwing knifes and technological gimmicks.. At the back wall of the shelves was a small desk on which a number of small round objects he had been tinkering with for the last couple of months. They'd almost both gone deaf when they'd finally figured out how to amplify their effectiveness. Separated from the tech support of their lair, they'd established a training area with judo mats for sparring, a punching bag and a pull-up bar. She let her eyes wander around the lair while he softly rubbed salve onto her shoulders and back as she hissed, cursed and sighed.

"What happened to your back?"

"Got slammed into Somers' desk. It's nothing."

"Clearly, you haven't managed to look in a mirror yet... Might be better that way," he commented. "Anything useful?"

"He's almost as strong in hand-to-hand as he is with his bow. Only times he missed was when I redirected his aim. He's a head taller than me, male, white, but that's about it."

"It's a start," he tried to encourage her.

"Thing is, I couldn't identify his fighting style. It's fluid and well-exercised, but I've never seen anything quite like it. It doesn't look like anything the triads or the other mobs are teaching their guys from what I can tell after getting my share of bruises from them, too-"

"You also dished out quite well."

"-t's not the Taekwondo the police gets taught either."

"So I guess we can exclude former gangbangers and cops. What about military?"

Laurel hesitated.

"I don't know. I don't know that many guys in the military." That was an understatement. She didn't know any, unless you counted the brief glance she had exchanged with Mr Queen's body guard the day of his court appointment. Military may be a viable option, though. He was obviously acclimatized to violence and had a low inhibition threshold when it came to killing, but she was probably generalizing too much there. If all soldiers were like the prejudices against them suggested soldiers to be, Starling would be inundated with vigilantes.

"We'll figure it out."

"Hmm," Laurel mumbled. "He threatened to go back for Somers if he didn't confess at the trial tomorrow... I wonder if he's actually going to try to kill him." She went to pull some fresh clothes from a nearby shelf. She didn't bother looking behind her, knowing that he would turn around to give her some privacy before she started changing.

"Well, he certainly won't go there to take a cup of coffee with the guy." his voice was hard. "He's killed two of Somers' men already. This was a warning, and if Somers doesn't react the way he is supposed to, the Hood will have have to up his game. He'll have to do something drastic, and we know he's willing to kill."

"Yeah, but, he knows I know his plan, and that I'll be there. I made it clear I wouldn't just let him butcher the man." She zipped up her skirt, and put on her heels before walking over to him and pat him on the shoulder. It was their sign that it was okay to turn back around. There had been a few embarrassing mishaps before they'd developed this method, particularly during that first time when he would come out with her. They had decided to be adults about it of course, shrugging it off as nothing they hadn't seen before, but they preferred to prevent even that first moment of awkwardness. When he turned to look at her, he didn't look at her at all. He was lost in his own thought, contemplating their new situation.

"It means he will know to make plans," he finally said, but he was clearly speaking more generally out loud than directly to her, despite the fact that she was the only other person down there with him.

"He'll be expecting another fight."

"He'll be prepared for another fight," he corrected her.

"I'm not sure I can take him," she said without thinking about it. When he opened his mouth to protest, she held up a hand, and explained further. "He was holding back. He didn't really use his bow. The one time he did point an arrow at me – I'm not archer, but even I could see that he was aiming for my shoulder. He wanted to incapacitate me, not kill me."

There was a moment of silence, before Laurel spoke out loud what truly worried her.

"What if that changes?"

She couldn't look at him. He'd taught her not to doubt herself, because doubt in battle would be the end of her. Now she couldn't help but wonder what would happen if the Man in the Hood unleashed all the fury she had sensed in him on her. He put a hand on her shoulder, and waited quietly until the uncomfortable silence made her look at him.

"We'll figure it out."

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Oliver marched out of Queen Consolidated in a huff. He had fought again with his mother and step-father, just after he and Walter had gotten to something of an agreement last night. He brushed past Diggle as the man held the car door open for him. His jaw was set when the bodyguard joined him in the backseat.

"You know I spent 27 years of my life in Starling City and the next 5 in Afghanistan. You want to know what I learned?" Diggle said by way of greeting. The abruptness took Oliver by surprise as much as the topic. He wasn't sure what his bodyguard was getting at, but it had been abundantly clear from the beginning that the man didn't buy half of the bullshit Oliver told his family. The rolling of his eyes when Oliver suggested he went out to meet girls had been a good indicator if nothing else. The billionaire had tried and tried to throw him of the scent, but Diggle just kept on looking straight ahead, looking at him with laser focus.

"There's no place like home?", Oliver offered sarcastically. He was not in the mood to try out his new resolve to come to an agreement with Diggle. The idea was too fresh and unformed, and he was in too bad a mood after hurting his mother again.

"No, just the opposite. Home is a battlefield. Back home they're all trying to get you. To get you to open up. To get you to be someone you're not sure you are anymore." The insight surprised Oliver again. It expressed exactly how hard he found it to even talk to the people he loved, because he was not the man they remembered, and couldn't be the man they wanted him to be. These past five years had broken that boy and birthed a new man, a man with only one goal. He couldn't be what his family needed him to be, what part of him wanted to be for them, and atone for his father's sins. Even if it meant losing them.

Maybe Walter was right, maybe he needed someone else. Someone new with no preconceptions or hopes for his identity, so that he could speak freely – or as freely as anyone with his secret ever could communicate with anyone. He chanced a glance at Diggle. This might be the agreement he had been searching for with the man. Maybe he could be that new person in his life, but then he was so close, too close already. If he were to open up with the bodyguard, he might as well just take him for a tour of his lair. Oliver was about to respond when the radio caught his attention, the speaker declaring that Martin Somers had insisted on his innocence during his hearing today.

" - unconfirmed reports indicate that Mr Somers has been attacked by Starling City's new vigilante last night. Witnesses report gunfire at the docks near Somers' property last night, and Starling City detective Quentin Lance was seen heading to the office buildings this morning. Mr Somers denies any sitings of the hooded vigilante. Detective Lance is the father -"

At that point Oliver was no longer listening, looking out the window at the city passing by while he contemplated the unfolding events. Somers had failed to honor his orders, and he would have to pay the price for that, but he had other concerns too. With the trial up in the air, and the vigilante out of Somers' reach, his most likely target would be the attorney who was gunning for him. Somers had triad connections, and had already proven his ruthlessness by killing Miss Nocenti's father. Now Detective Lance had confronted and possibly provoked Somers by his appearance at the docks that morning. By night time, the mobster would strike.

If he went to take out Somers first, it would likely be too late for the attorney. Laurel Lance sure knew how to pick them. Her father would no doubt place her under police protection, which would no doubt not be enough to protect her, but certainly enough to make an appearance as the hooded vigilante unwise. He needed to find another way to insert himself in her protection scheme. The officers would be parked out front, which meant that no one would be inside the apartment with her. She had resurrected him, legally speaking, perhaps he could convincingly suggest that he wanted to thank her, he thought, when a jingle started him out of his thoughts. An ice cream truck had stopped directly in front of his car, and he could see children zoning in on the sweet delight. He told the driver to stop as well, and waited for Diggle to open his door.

"They didn't have one of these on the island. It's on me," the billionaire said with a grin. He could almost sense the confused look his bodyguard threw him, and figured he had finally found a way to throw the man, and completely by accident at that. They waited patiently for their turn, then stood in the early afternoon enjoying their ice cream. Oliver was anyway, Diggle didn't seem too convinced with the situation.

"What's wrong, Diggle?"

"You're surprisingly calm and... happy. Maybe you're not as messed up in the head as you have the right to be."

Oliver smirked slightly.

"Maybe we both aren't...", he pointed out wistfully. Suddenly, he felt a certain bond with his bodyguard. He shook it off quickly. "Eat your ice cream, before the Rocky Road scoop melts onto your suit."

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That is how Oliver found himself knocking on Laurel Lance's apartment door that evening with a can of Rocky Road ice cream in a bag. As expected, he had noticed the two squads in the nondescript cars opposite the entrance to her apartment block. They weren't doing a very good job of blending in, at least not for someone with a trained eye such as him. Still, it was better than no one being out there at all. It took him a couple of knocks before she opened the door. She looked through the peephole first. Good. By the look on her face, she was ready to fight. She tried to look around him as if expecting someone, though clearly not him if the look of surprise was any indication.

"Hi. Are you okay? There are two cop cars outside..."

"Mr Queen? What-" She didn't sound irritated or disappointed. He took that as a win.

"My sister took – She pointed out to me that I've been distant and abrupt with everyone, and I realized that I never properly thanked you for your assistance yesterday."

"Well, that's hardly your fault. I was the one who had to rush off..."

"Still..."

"Where's your better half?"

He laughed at hearing her call Diggle that.

"Mr Diggle and I agreed that my lawyer was unlikely to assassinate me just after she went through so much trouble to bring me back to life."

"I suppose..."

"May I come in?"

"I'm not sure that's such a good idea at the moment, Mr Queen-"

"Call me Oliver, please, and I promise I won't stay long," he lied about the last part, or at least he would attempt to make it a lie if she didn't kick him out. If she did, he would at least plant some bugs to watch over her from his car. She looked unconvinced for a moment, while he smiled charmingly at her to change her mind. Finally, she opened the door wider and stepped aside. He followed her inside, closing the door behind him. The furnishing of her apartment was simple, but elegant. Only the hot pink color of the walls surprised him slightly, but it was such a dark shade of pink that it didn't look girly at all.

"Thank you," he told her. She smiled a bit awkwardly as they stopped to stand in the living room, unsure as to what to do with each other now. There wasn't really any protocol for this; an unknown castaway and the lawyer who had represented him in court in her apartment after dark. Laurel mentally shook herself. Her stressed out mind made it sound worse than it was, and clearly it was not unimpressed with Queen's – Oliver's – good looks, nor warned away by his reputation. Meeting him in the court house, he had been an intriguing curiosity, and she had felt for him during his tale of the shipwreck. Afterwards, she had been too busy to think of him much, except when prompted by Joana and Ted. This was the first time she truly got a good look at him, and he seemed as calm as he had been during the hearing. Too calm, she had thought then, for what he had gone through, but now she saw the hard lines of his face and realized that he was marked by what he'd lived through. He looked haunted.

"What's in the bag?", Laurel asked, trying to lighten the mood.

"Ah. I thought about many things on the island, but there was one thing I thought about every day. I actually dreamed about this on the island, and I figured there would be no better way to thank you for my resurrection..." His hand dived into the bag, and pulled out a can of Rocky Road ice cream. Laurel tried hard not to look impressed.

"Did you guess my favorite flavor, or did you google it?"

"Google, I'm afraid. It's surprising what you can learn about this city's legal officers on the Internet." He ducked his head a little and gave her a self-deprecating smile. She finally smiled back, before she went for bowels and spoons. They ended up sitting on the couch spooning the sweet dessert.

"How did you come to represent me?", he asked her out of the blue. She should have expected the question, though. Ted had asked her the same thing. "I mean, I'm grateful. You did a great job, but you are not... I googled CNRI, too, while I was at it. It's a legal aid office. Representing rich boy castaways doesn't really seem to be your usual terrain."

She nodded briefly, while swallowing a mouthful of ice cream. It made her throat hurt to do it so quickly, and she exhaled softly through the mouth to let the warm air soothe the ache. She put down the spoon, and sat up a bit straighter as she always did when discussing her carrier in the law.

"While I was getting my law degree, I did an internship at Queen Consolidated," she explained, clearly capturing his attention as he too sat up straighter. "On my first day, I met this woman in the elevator, and I was so excited and so nervous that I started chatting with her, asking her all kinds of things about Queen Consolidated and probably revealing more of my life aspirations than I would normally tell my own father. A couple of floors up, a man joined us. He said: 'Good morning, Mrs Queen', and I went... 'Crap!'"

Oliver chuckled a little as her facial expressions changed to accompany the story.

"A little over a week later your mother came down to the legal office, and spoke to my supervisor. I'm not sure what he told her, but later I was asked to assist Mrs Baxter, your usual attorney. At the end of my internship, your mother met up with me. One of the senior members of the company's legal office wanted to step down in two years. Someone else would take their place, and the company would need another lawyer."

"She offered you a job?"

"Well, with strings attached. I hadn't finished my law degree, so she offered me a scholarship, essentially, if I worked for Queen Consolidated afterwards."

"You refused, clearly."

"Yes, I... Not that I didn't love working at Queen Consolidated, the legal team there is great – I'm still in contact with some of them – but corporate law was never really my cup of tea. I wanted to try it, just once, and it confirmed what I already knew; I'm a cop's daughter. I wanted something more... down to earth." Her voice raised a little towards the end as if afraid she would offend him. Oliver just smiled. "And as for why I ended up representing you specifically... well, I figured I owed you one after I helped Mrs Baxter have you declared dead. It was two years after your disappearance, and they couldn't postpone it any longer. I'm sorry."

"Not your fault. I was gone."

To lift the tension he tried to shift the focus back on the ice cream.

"This is as good as I remember." There was a small silence as he sat on the floor and looked up at her. Then he pointed to the ice cream with an embarrassed huff. "I mean... I didn't come here because..."

"I know. I may only know you by reputation, but if you hadn't changed one bit after five years alone on an island, I'd worry about your sanity."

He gave another huff. "I haven't changed that much... My mother wants me to join the company. Take my rightful place."

Laurel raised an eyebrow, trying to conjure up an image of Oliver sitting behind a desk and making decisions for an internationally successful company. Nope, she couldn't picture it. He was right, then, and really hadn't changed much. Or he had changed too much, and long surpassed any ambitions in the economic world. She used her spoon to point at him as she spoke, her face grimacing at the thought.

"I can't really picture you as master of the universe."

"You know, after five years, I have plans," he told her, nodding his head for emphasis. Walter was right. It was easier talking to a stranger. "I have things that I have to do, and I can't do them when I'm... I don't know, attending board meetings and stockholder briefings..."

She took a deep breath. It felt odd discussing his life with him. She barely knew him.

"Oliver," she answered, testing out his name as he had invited her to do. It felt foreign on her tongue, but the look of encouragement and the small smile on his face made her press on. "You're an adult, you can say 'no'."

"Oh, I tried. Didn't take."

"Well, then, don't tell her, show her. Be the person you want her to see you as." She put down the bowl. "Trust me, I have plenty of experience with disapproving parents."

"So do I, just not necessarily with mine."

They shared a soft laugh, but then a noise made him tense. When she told him she hadn't heard anything, he grabbed the kitchen knife on the table. Another noise had them both stand up. This time Laurel had heard it as well. He thought it came from the fire escape, so he took her hand and they made their way to the front door to leave just as someone crashed through the door. He forcibly made her change direction of her bedroom window, but there too an intruder blocked their way. The shooting had started almost as soon as they had seen the man run through the door. They ran through her apartment ducking, hoping the bullets wouldn't hit them. During their retreat from her bedroom, Laurel took the lead for a second to direct him toward a small, unassuming bureau. Pulling out a drawer, she grabbed a gun. The man who had followed them from the entrance had barely moved around the corner when he caught a bullet to the shoulder. Oliver admired her aim, and breathed a sigh of relief at not having to fight this battle alone. He should have guessed, though. Her father was a cop; of course he had taught her how to shoot. She turned around to shoot at the second man as soon as he came out of the bedroom, but in the meantime Oliver found himself face to face with a third attacker, a woman with stark white hair and curved knifes in each hand. The shot behind him didn't startle him. After seeing her take down their first attacker, he trusted Laurel to handle her gun. He looked around for something to do use against their final attacker that would allow him to keep his secret. In a pinch, he would fight her hand-to-hand though. He hadn't seen anything useful on his way in, and Laurel didn't turn fast enough to stop the other woman's attack. Oliver had to block her strike with the knife, all the while doubtlessly blocking Laurel's aim. When Diggle came in, he took only a moment to aim at the Chinese woman before firing. He missed her, and she used the layout of Laurel's apartment and her proximity to Oliver to close the distance before Diggle could fire again. She struck at the man's hand, making him drop his gun, then brought up her other knife in a wide arch to slit his throat. Diggle dug under her attack, twisting the knife out of her other hand, and hitting her leg. She swiped at him with her remaining knife, unbalancing him and making him fall. Both Oliver and Laurel watched unable to do anything due to the constant movement.

"I can't fire. I could hit him," Laurel whispered to him.

When she had Diggle on the ground the woman moved to kill him. Oliver quickly changed positions to throw the kitchen knife at her. Laurel followed him, probably hoping to find a better angle to shoot from, or maybe a bit afraid to remain on her own. He struck the knife straight out of the Chinese killer's hand, and the woman looked up in shock. Before Laurel could fire, their attacker got up and ran. He could hear the clattering of the gun falling onto the ground as Laurel bridged the remaining distance between them in a dash. Without thinking about it, they were suddenly hugging, and he was brushing strands of hair out of her face. She was flushed and her eyes wide. He couldn't tell whether this was due to fear or anger. He just held her. He denied that they were hurt when Diggle asked them in a panic, then asked him again specifically.

"This is why it's a good idea to have a bodyguard."

He concentrated on Laurel, brushing through her hair as he moved back to get a good look at her face. She was less flushed now, and her breathing had calmed. When he asked her if she was alright, she just nodded, clearly not yet trusting her voice. Part of him wanted to pull her back into the embrace gently until she had fully recovered, but she gestured at the phone wanting to call her father, so he let her go. When her father arrived, he pulled Laurel into his arms and held her tightly to his chest. His worry for his daughter and his gratefulness to Diggle were only overshadowed by his anger at Oliver. Detective Lance was already unimpressed with him in regards to his claim about the Man in the Hood saving him and Tommy, and now that Laurel had been attacked in his presence, the man liked him even less.

"It seems whenever you're close to someone, people die. So do me a favor and stay away from my daughter!", the man bit out harshly. "Or next time you disappear, it will be permanent."

"Dad!", Laurel bristled.

"No, it's okay. I understand," Oliver cut her off.

"No, it's not okay," Laurel cut in, positioning herself between Oliver and her father, surprising them both. Oliver looked at the back of her head with a stunned expression when she rose to his defense. They had barely met, and she had just been assaulted and almost killed in her own home, while he was there. Considering the trauma, her rationale was impressive, as was her ardent sense of justice that would not allow her to let her father's slight against him go. Her own father...; it might be useful to have her in his corner – in and out of the mask. "This attack was meant for me, not Oliver. I put _him_ in danger, not the other way around. And more importantly, I might be dead if he hadn't been here, because without him, Mr Diggle wouldn't have been here to save me either."

When her father looked properly chastised, she turned back to Oliver, who was still stunned into silence.

"I'm sorry for putting you through this."

"It's not like you didn't warn me," he shrugged it off. "You did say it wasn't the best moment."

She smiled gently.

"I should have been more insistent. I'm sorry. Perhaps it would be best if you did stay away from me, for your own protection."

"Perhaps you should rethink the cases you take," he suggested quietly. Detective Lance snorted in the background. He seemed both annoyed and disbelieving that they were on the same side of anything.

"Don't bother. I've been telling her that for years."

After Oliver and Diggle left, her father sent the other officers out of her apartment, though some remained stationed outside her building again. There was a twitching in her father's right eye while he waited for the last officers to go out of earshot. Laurel tensed on the chouch, sensing that there was going to be a fight. Both Lances followed the police officers with their eyes as they left, then kept looking anxiously at the door while their footsteps receded down the hall. When even those ceased, awkward silence suddenly filled the room – but only briefly.

"You're gonna go back to that court room tomorrow, and you're gonna recuse yourself from this case, or drop it," her father said without preamble. The order alone made all the hairs on the back of Laurel's head stand up as her anger rose, but he was far from done. " - either way, you're done."

The finality of his words only made her angrier, and she was quick to respond.

"If you think I'm gonna abandon Emily Nocenti, then you don't know me all that well."

"You don't know me well, young lady!", her father called back, gesturing wildly with his hands at himself. "I will lock you in a cell if that's what it takes!"

She stood up to this, literally. "Well, I guess that's what it's gonna take then," she told him sardonically. With that, she turned away from him, dismissing any further discussions on the topic, but, of course, it would never be that easy. Her father's continued argument made her turn back to him, even when she had already walked behind the couch.

"DAMMIT, Laurel!", he barked, hand on his face. The worry and fear lacing his voice stopped her dead in her tracks. She looked at him, then, wide-eyed and wondering if he had been against the path she'd chosen for herself all along. "After what happened to... I thought you'd stop being just so reckless..."

There was desperation in his voice now, and a part of her wanted to cry at it. A louder part was just more irritated, and in the heat of the moment that's the side she went with.

"It's not about being reckless! I'm trying to make this city safer just like you." She began wondering if they were still talking about the same 'job'. She began wondering what exactly she herself was talking about.

"Yeah, and we've seen how that went for you, nearly getting shot – bullets and arrows are equally deadly, you know."

She should have been taken aback, but Laurel actually found her footing now that they were on the same page.

"Were you like this with mom?"

"I didn't have enough time. She didn't tell me until it got serious, and she dropped out after we decided to try for children," he scoffed, then softened his tone. "We wanted you, Laurel. We weren't willing to risk that... And Starling was different back then. Now it's... meaner." He sighed.

"I can handle it. I can handle myself. You and mom made sure of that, and I want to do it," she explained. "I might stop too if I ever... but my city needs me right now, and I can't... I know it's scary; I'm scared too half the time, but that never stopped mom, and I'm not gonna let it stop me either. But I can't do it like this, with you... suffocating me."

There was a brief standoff, where they weren't sure what to do with each other. Angry words had been exchanged, and if they didn't want to go their separate ways unsettled that evening, they needed to bridge the gap quickly before it had time to grow. Her father was the first to move, softly called her by his favorite endearment, and she knew that he was on a path to reconciliation.

"Sweetheart," he murmured as he came closer, "you're my only daughter, Laurel... You're all I have. You're all I have left to live for."

"But what you want from me is not living, dad. Having cops around, not being able to do my job," she said, her voice cracking. _Or my night job_ , she thought.

"Your job is not going after people like the triad, or Somers," he argued back.

"My job is to keep this city safe and to use the law to fight for what is right, just like you taught me!", she responded equally angry as the moment of peace shattered again. She had just wanted to follow in her parents' footsteps. In her mother's footsteps. In his. Couldn't he see?! She was doing this for him, for herself, for her city and for... All she did; she thought he understood.

"Well, that's dirty; using me against me... Can't do that." They both needed to take a breath it seemed, and she needed to move.

"Well, maybe I picked that up along the way to," she suggested, making him half smile at her, even if it was so clearly pained.

"The Hood promised to return for Somers if he didn't confess in court today. He didn't," she added calmly, gesturing to her ruined apartment. "I need to go if I want to prevent a blood bath, but I need your help to get past the cops outside."

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"I'd say thank you, but I don't think that would cover it," Oliver threw over his shoulder in passing as he simultaneously threw Diggle an ice pack to cool his wound. His bodyguard stood up before replying, emphasizing once more that he was just doing what he had been hired for. Oliver relaxed internally when that seemed to be his only reaction, but of course he should be that lucky, because Diggle continued after a brief pause.

"Besides, I think it should be you I'm thanking." His tone was bemused, maybe even suspicious. Oliver stopped and turned as soon as Diggle spoke up again, then closed in when the man was done. His face was an expression of bewilderment, but his body was crowding the man as subtly as possible to incite him to back down.

"What for?", the vigilante asked as innocently as possible.

"The knife," Diggle answered immediately, and in a tone that told Oliver not to bullshit him. The vigilante might have smirked if that hadn't given his cover of innocence away. Not that it was doing him much good anyway, because when he suggested his feat to have been pure luck, Diggle sure as hell didn't swallow it. "That was a kitchen knife. It wasn't even weighted properly, yet you through it for accuracy across a ten-foot-room."

"Exactly," Oliver insisted outwardly confident, though he knew how weak his argument was when he reiterated: "I got lucky."

"I'm not the kinda man you want to take for a fool, Mr Queen," Diggle warned. If Oliver hadn't known he'd have to do something about the 'Diggle Situation' already, he'd certainly get the hint now. The man was far more perceptive that he calculated, or rather, he hadn't calculated to get kidnapped on his first day back in town and his mother subsequently hiring a bodyguard. He had failed to factor the new situation into his plans. He really would have to deal with that, but for now he had more important things to be doing. To be doing in the harbor area. He tried to think of a way out when Diggle unintentionally provided him with one. "And I think I'm just beginning the kinda man you are."

There was his opening to reinforce his image, effectively ending the conversation.

"Shouldn't take you long," he replied a bit haughtily. "I'm shallow... and very tired. Good night."

He barely heard Diggle reply as he made his way to his room, only to sneak out of it again after securely locking the door. This time he would take the route across the balcony, both to get out and to get back in as well.

As he got dressed for tonight's mission, Oliver thought on what he had given Somers. An opportunity. An opportunity to make things right, and the man had thrown it right back in his face by attacking the lawyer who had tried to stop him. By attacking someone Oliver was coming to care about. He hadn't known Laurel Lance very long, nor did he know her particularly well, but he recognized the same determination and passion in her eyes that he had admired in Shado's. Laurel Lance was a fighter. She fought for this city in her way, and he would do it in his. In a way they complemented each other. Cops and district attorneys in this city were corrupt; there was no way of knowing who was trustworthy, and he might need an ally in the 'real world' soon. Laurel Lance had unknowingly set herself up as that ally. That Somers had tried to have her killed was like a glowing recommendation as far as Oliver was concerned. That she had even tried to bring him to justice said a lot about her character and integrity. She cared, much like he did, although it might be difficult to convince her of approving of the vigilante, but he would tackle that problem another time. For now, he would fulfill her goal.

Martin Somers would still face justice, just a different kind.

And if the Woman in Black turned up to rain on his parade again; well, he had an arrow for that...

When he reached the harbor, he took only a moment to assess possible threats, before he started taking them out one by one. Gunfire erupted like last time, and like last time it was useless. He could tell Somers was panicked when he called through the radio for his men once the gunfire died down. From his vantage point, Oliver could see him hightail it out of his little corner of the docks. He had been packing money since before Oliver had first started taking out his men. He was afraid of the triads. They were coming to get Somers, and dispatch him because he was a potential witness. He wouldn't get very far even if Oliver let him go. He hadn't returned to Starling to see people killed in triad hits, though, not even Somers. Besides, it was a good opportunity to introduce himself to organized crime, and give them a message they would remember.

He followed Somers and pinned him to a stack of boxes.

"I want the truth about Victor Nocenti!", he called angrily through his voice modulator. The man was already whimpering with an arrow on either side of his neck. Still, he resisted.

"I can't! The triad will kill me."

"The triad is not your concern right now,", he reminded Somers, aiming to stick another arrow near him for emphasis. Just then the bo staff he'd expected all evening appeared in his peripheral vision. Oliver had expected her to throw his aim again, and turned his bow away. Too late he realized she aimed for the side of his knee. Forcing him onto one knee, his aim was thrown anyway, and the arrow sailed high above Somers head when he released it reflexively at the onslaught of pain.

"This is a bit déjà-vu, don't you think?", she said as she moved in front of him, again placing herself between him and Somers. Oliver gritted his teeth. This was going to be tedious. He didn't have time for this with the triad on the way, yet by the look on her face, both today and last night, there would be no reasoning with her. Women. He pulled another arrow, and she raised her bo staff ready to act. He caught her gaze briefly lingering on the metal contraption along the arrow's shaft, before she focused back on him. With lightning speed she smacked the bow right out of his hand. He had to shake it out from the pain, flexing his fingers carefully to make sure nothing was broken.

"I'm not killing him. I've not killed any of his men; they're all just out of commission, so you can fuck off," he hissed in her face as he closed in. He hadn't bothered to pick up his bow, but the arrow was gripped tightly in his hand, anger evident in his posture and the stiffness of his muscles, yet the Woman in Black remained unimpressed.

"No, instead you're torturing now, because that's so much better," she hissed right back. When Somers tried to move from his spot, she snarled at him without ever turning her face. "DON'T. Move. Don't even think about it." Somers was petrified enough by Oliver's actions that he went completely stiff as the rest of the color drained from his face.

She lowered her bo staff a bit to show just how unimpressed she was with his tactics, but that was what he was waiting for. She had taken this as an almost domestic argument, wherein she had nothing to fear from him except angry words. She would soon regret underestimating him. Taking a deep breath as if argue, he held it as he manually released the gas from the arrow. The woman sucked in a breath in surprise as the compressed gas hit her straight in the face, and that was her second mistake. It took only a moment before she swayed. When she lost consciousness, he let her fall carelessly to the ground, sadistically enjoying the heavy thump when her body hit the floor. He took only a moment to gloat over his victory, before he picked up his bow.

"She is only unconscious, but I want the truth _now_ , or your fate will be much worse," he told Somers in that same dangerously calm, icy voice that the Woman in Black had used when telling him to stay put. This time, Somers caved. The whole confrontation had left him shivering and sweating, and crying too.

"Alright," he hastened to say. "Alright, alright... It wasn't me that killed him, it was the triads-"

But Oliver wasn't gonna let that pass.

"Acting on whose instructions?", he questioned again, sticking an arrow right above Somers' head when he didn't immediately answer. "On whose?!"

"Alright, alright – it was mine! It was mine!," he whimpered. "Nocenti said he was gonna testify against me..."

Before he could say more, Somers got distracted by something behind Oliver. The vigilante knew instantly that he had missed the approach of someone dangerous. He turned quickly around, but China White had already thrown one of her curved knifes at him. He didn't have the time to react anymore. Never had Oliver been so glad to hear the clinking sound of metal against metal as he was when the knife was batted away with a bo staff. He extended an arm to help the woman who saved his life up from the floor.

"Now you decide to be a gentleman," she griped. "You didn't have to let me fall."

"It had to look authentic," he responded, not without a certain amount of glee in his voice.

"We'll discuss that later." Oliver was surprised he even understood that considering it was more an angry growl than an actual statement.

"Sure, honey," he replied, using her own joke against her. The glare she gave him should have intimidated him, but it felt more like a badge of honor than a threat.

They focused on the triad assassin again when she spoke. Since it was in a variety of Chinese, the Woman in Black didn't understand a word, but surprisingly the hooded vigilante replied in the same language. Whatever they spoke of, their tones carried tons of threats. Thankfully, neither of them moved immediately, so she could inquire about the content.

"What did she say?"

"Move away from him," the hooded man replied.

"And what did you answer?" She just wanted to be on the same page here, but she had a feeling that she would regret it.

"Make me." See, she regretted it already.

"Of course you did," she muttered. The sound of footsteps indicated Somers' hasty retreat. Clearly, her command hadn't held him in place for very long. Since the hooded vigilante and the triad assassin seemed to have unfinished business, she decided to run after Somers. She called back at the green guy over her shoulder. "I'll take him!"

Oliver gritted his teeth. That was not part of the plan.

 _Flashback_

 _He was standing in full sight on the roof, overlooking the docks a little sideways from where Somers' headquarters were situated, but close enough that she couldn't possibly overlook him. There was something light slung over his shoulder, something other than his quiver. It was almost like he was waiting for her. As she got closer, she could see that the light object was a white linen cloth. A white flag? This was almost certainly a trap. Nonetheless, she couldn't not offer him the chance to explain or whatever he wanted to do under a truce if there was even the slightest chance that he meant it._

 _He knew immediately when she landed on the roof behind him. She had probably been close for a while by then, no doubt casing out the roof and looking for possible hidden threats and escape routes. He was impressed that he hadn't noticed her before. She made no move to hide her final arrival though. He wasn't sure whether that was brave or stupid, but the fact that she seemed to trust him at least a little bit was reassuring. Especially considering the circumstances of their first encounter last night. It would ease the coming conversation, and it made him confident that she would accept his proposition. Probably. Maybe?_

" _There's no point in us fighting. We want the same thing," he jumped right into the problem._

" _You promised to kill Somers if he doesn't confess, and here we are. That's something to fight about."_

" _And what if it wasn't?", he asked as he turned around, loosening the white cloth from over his shoulder. He let it fall carelessly to the ground as he approached her. She was instantly on guard, raising her bo staff higher. He switched his bow to his right hand and extended his left arm, hand raised up in a placating sign. Even with her domino mask on, he could see her raise her eyebrow, but she didn't stop his approach. "What if I wasn't here to kill Somers, what then?"_

" _Then I would ask what you're here for then."_

" _I would say that I want to get the confession he denied to the court."_

" _And I'd ask how you intend to obtain it."_

 _He paused, not sure how to answer. There was no way around using Somers for target practice, but he had a feeling he should put it more nicely if he wanted her to give his suggestion the time of the day. He took a moment to think about it, and was grateful when she let him work through it without rushing him. As she stood there patiently, the man took a moment to assess her in a way the warrior he was hadn't been able to last night when they were on opposite sides. Her face was hidden behind a mask and the blond hair was obviously a good wig, but he could see she was slender with nice curves, though not too prominent. She wore flat boots; sensible in her line of work, but her long legs were only emphasized by the black leather pants. The leathers she wore were tight-fitting, adhering to her body like a second skin. There was nothing like leather on a good-looking woman to make her look even hotter, and his mind drifted off for a second before he remembered the question._

" _I intend to scare the crap out of him until he confesses."_

 _She still looked dubious._

" _He won't come to harm, but I'll certainly make it look like he will if he doesn't answer my questions."_

" _And you expect me just to take your word for it and stay out of it, is that it?"_

" _No, on the contrary. I need your help," he said, pulling a specific arrow out of his quiver and indicating the metal contraption behind the arrowhead. "This releases anesthetic gas. I want you to come to protect him and breathe it in."_

 _She opened her mouth to protest, but he just went on._

" _It isn't filled with anesthetic gas today. It's just fumes. If you pull it off, he'll believe he's defenseless and he'll talk. No harm done."_

" _How do I know that's what you say it is."_

 _He paused again. This was the crux of his problem and of his argument._

" _You'll just have to trust me."_

 _End of Flashback_

Thankfully, she had, but now with China White's arrival, his plan had been blown to bits. It had taken longer than expected to pull the whole thing off, giving the triad assassin enough time to reach them and Somers. Now he had an angry Chinese bitch on his hands, while his more or less willing partner in crime was pursuing his target. Brilliant. Why couldn't this have ended in a chick fight – at least that would have been entertaining. And hot. Mostly hot. Then again, it might have been distractingly hot, and Somers would have gotten away. Either way, he didn't have time to contemplate the matter further as China White moved in on him. Doing a cartwheel she picked up her knife and went on the attack. He used his bow to ward off her knives, and also to lung at her with.

As she drove him backwards through the building, their fight became interspersed with kicks, one of which he took directly to the face as he was too slow to react. Sirens wailed, and he crumpled slightly, partially from the kick and partially because he really couldn't deal with this on top of everything else. Then the sound of a chopper got added into the mix, and he was distracted enough again thinking on how the Woman in Black might be coping with Somers and the arrival of the police that another kick got him in the side, and then another in the chest. Dammit, he needed to concentrate. Just in hat moment, a voice from the chopper announced that they were surrounded and told them to surrender. China White took that as her cue to run, and he followed her example, but went in the opposite direction to follow his 'partner'.

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Meanwhile, Laurel was gaining on Somers as he ran outside the building. She threw her bo staff at him to make him stumble, and when he did she closed the distance. Using his shoulders for support, she flipped over his head. Pressed onto the ground by her weight, he couldn't react in time before her leg came up and swing kicked him in the face. His lights went out right away, mildly disappointing her. Perhaps she should have let the green guy go after the runaway. At least the Chinese assassin would have fought back. Then again, maybe this apparent lust for a fight was a sign she should take a vacation. She had been warned. This life would suck her in until she was addicted, until she wouldn't know how to live without the thrill of it. If she wanted to preserve her sanity, she had to escape that addictiveness. She'd realized that taking breaks helped. Though she always felt bad for leaving the city to fend for itself, it wasn't like Starling would implode if she dropped out for a week, and she realized that these pauses made her miss her normal life more when she was back in costume. That sense of longing kept balance with the rush of her blood and the pump of her heart and the elation of all that adrenalin coursing through her on the job.

While she contemplated, bizarrely, if maybe should could arrange a vacation schedule with the hooded vigilante, she got out her handcuffs from the satchel on her right thigh and secured Somers' hands behind his back. Then she took her second pair of handcuffs and did the same to his ankles, just to be sure. This man wasn't going anywhere but prison after all he had done. Once she was done, she intended to go back inside and see if her green-hooded 'partner' wanted or needed a hand with the triad assassin. When she closed the cuffs around Somers' ankles, the man began to regain consciousness. She may have secured him, but she didn't exactly want to leave him unattended if he while conscious. Laurel gritted her teeth. Brilliant. Sighing, she moved halfway around him as he attempted to get up on his own.

"Sorry," she said.

"Huh?" Clearly, he was still too groggy to get anything more out. Well, that wouldn't change soon.

"For this," she replied to his unvoiced question, drew back her fist and smashed it into his temple, knocking him right back into unconsciousness. "Can't risk you getting loose, and I have to go see what my 'partner' is up to. He promised no killing, but I'm not so sure."

Just then the sound of sirens, quickly followed by the whooshing of a chopper in flight reached her ears.

"Oh, good. There's your ride. The police has come to take you home to a nice, warm, too-good-for-you prison cell." She began to walk away, muttering. "At least I won't have to babysit you again."

When she turned around, she was faced with a gun and the detective who held it. Dammit. Apparently, her father had driven ahead without the sirens to try and help her. With the other vigilante potentially watching, though, they needed to make this look good. This night was giving her a headache. She really did need that vacation apparently.

"Freeze," her father ordered, then moved closer when she did. She'd have to wait for him to 'try' to cuff her, and then disarm him. "Don't move or I'll shoot." His gun wasn't quite aimed at her, subtly leaning towards the side, so she wasn't worried. "On the ground, hands above your head."

Really? She closed her eyes. Well, at least her father understood that it 'needed to look authentic', but did he have to make it look this good? Nonetheless, she obeyed. It wasn't like her training hadn't covered how to disarm someone from a disadvantageous position. Her father hadn't made a move toward her when something hit his gun and carried his aim sideways. For a moment she worried a shot might be set loose, but instead the weapon was flung backward and fixed to a container with a blinking miniature arrow. For a few seconds father and daughter looked equally baffled, and it was actually the detective who regained his wits first. He grunted in displeasure, his body turned toward the arrow, but his eyes were fixed on her face. A quick roll of his eyes urged her to take the opportunity to disappear, and so she did, while her father went to investigate the blinking. Laurel didn't have to wait around for that. She could guess that it was some kind of recording of Somers' confession. The mobster would wake up in jail tomorrow, and every morning after that for the rest of his life.

Mission accomplished.

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They were back on that roof top ten minutes later, but this time they were sitting ducked behind the protruding wall to avoid notice by the police. Their bodies were faced slightly sideways to look at one another, and there was a small space between them silently designated their safety distance, but their weapons both lay on the ground a foot away from them. Neither of them was there to fight.

"Thank you," she said, deciding to start the conversation on a positive note.

"You're welcome," he replied, smiling. "I couldn't exactly let my 'partner' get picked up by the police, now could I?"

"I would have handled it." She couldn't resist saying it, dammit.

"I know," was all she got in return, and the simple, declaratory way in which he said it made her believe him. He was being honest, which meant that he hadn't helped her out of a sense of duty for getting her involved, or because he thought her in need of a knight in green leather armor, but simply because he'd been there at the right moment and it was more expeditious. She smiled at the thought. It was... nice.

"That went better than I expected," she admitted.

"See, I told you we are on the same side."

"But we pursue our goals differently. And with this 'business' being what it is, it's inevitable that we'll cross paths sometimes."

He ducked his head.

"Are you saying this city is not big enough for the two of us?" His voice had taken on a dangerous tone as he tensed up. He felt her tense up in response as well.

"No, I'm saying we need a way to handle this. Ground rules. We can't fight crime if we are fighting each other, but... neither of us can change their spots," she admitted. "I can't just let you go around killing people. If I'm there, I will always stop you."

He believed her that she would try, and she would succeed more often than not simply by keeping him busy long enough that the police would arrive on the scene and then they'd both have to run. She was right. They needed a better solution. Even if they could agree to stay out of each other's business and not go looking for one another, they would inevitably end up working on the same case again someday. They needed a plan of action for then, and it would be easier to make one now, together than to separately try to find ways to one-up another. It would require sacrifices on both their sides. It would require compromise. He wasn't sure he was ready to involve someone else so burdened with secrets in his decision making, no matter how remotely, but the choice had been taken from him on this occasion. Even as he vowed that next time the decision would be solely his, even as somewhere in the back of his head the plan he'd intuited the previous night on how to confront Diggle took shape, Oliver conceded this round. They both would have to.

"I guess I could restrain myself when we do meet," he muttered hesitantly.

The woman nodded and swallowed.

"And I guess I could cut you some slack."

With that she stood up, and made to leave. He watched her move across the roof when a thought suddenly hit him. Curiosity bubbled inside him in an almost childlike manner. He fought it down, but the urge to ask remained.

"Hey," he called after her softly. He waited for her to turn around before continuing. "Do you have a name? For this, I mean." He gestured at her general form.

"Yes," she said, not elaborating. "Do you?"

"No."

He watched her lip twitch.

"Well, you better come up with one. I don't want to call you Leprechaun forever."

They shared a laugh.

"And what about you, Woman in Black...", he shot back.

She thought on that for a moment, cocking her head to the side as she conceded his point. Then she seemed to come to a decision because she moved back to the edge of the roof. Oliver felt a twinge of disappointment when he thought that she might simply leave, but her head turned to the side to address him over her shoulder.

"I'll tell you mine when you tell me yours."

 **A/N:** It's a different setup than the original season 1. What do you think?


	2. Chapter 2

**Guardian Angels**

 **Summary:** AU/ After five years in hell, Oliver Queen has returned home with only one goal – to save his city. Unfortunately, nobody told him he'd have to wait in line.

 **A/N:** Thank you all so much for your support and kind reviews! Let me address some questions you've asked me. **  
**

 **GreekOtaku:** Wow! Thank you so much! I'm happy you enjoyed it. The chapters will be about the same length as they'll all cover approximately one episode each. I might rearrange the order of the eposides somewhat or leave one out if it would happen pretty much the same as in the series.

 **eternalLove59:** You are so right. The way the writers treated Laurel, especially in season 2 was atrocious. That wasn't at all what she deserved. I'm glad you like my version of her and the story of Arrow.

 **highlander348:** Sara did go on the boat with Oliver and there is a connection to Laurel, but it's slightly different than in the series. There'll be a few allusions and hints for now, but their connection won't be revealed until later in the story. So stay tuned!^^

 **Warnings: unbeta-ed, also violence**

 **Chapter 2: The Man in the Hood**

The vigilante tosses Holder two guns. They slid over the floor toward the man's feet. A moment passed as they let the meaning of this gesture sink in. There was no one to call, no one to come running, no one to protect him. He was alone on a rooftop with a notorious vigilante, dressed in a bathrobe and armed with noting more than a delicate beer bottle. They both knew when the fear started to slip into him. The bottle which he was still holding began to visible shake in his grip, wine spilling onto his expensive white robe, his left foot shifted slightly backward as if backing away will actually offer him any protection or as if he is planning on making a run for it. A narrowed gaze told him how unwise that would be. The vigilante's right hand was twitching too, but not in fear, no. A slow, methodical drumbeat of fingers against the thigh. Waiting, waiting, gaging his next move. Whatever reaction Holder showed, it would determine the outcome of this encounter. It would determine how hostile the vigilante would be, how violent. It may even determine whether he lived or died if recent events in the news were any indication.

He shuddered. He had heard about the results Hunt and Somers had 'achieved' in their dealings with the hooded vigilante. Head cocked to the side; a sign of impatience. Whatever he decided to do, he needed to act soon or else the vigilante would act for him. He made a placating gesture with the beer bottle, a rounded motion meant more to give him something to do and stall the almost inevitable attack. A grip tightening on the weapon. He took another half-step backwards; this time he was followed. Taking a deep breath, he was willing to negotiate. He opened his mouth to say so, noticing that this halted his assailant's movement – so, reasonable then – but before he could utter a word the bottle shatters in his hand and a green arrow stuck itself into the grating that prevented the pool from overflowing. Holders turned sideways to keep both vigilantes in sight. He saw a look pass between them like a silent conversation. _You? Me. What are you doing here?!_ Frustration and resignation and questions on both sides and perhaps that was his chance, while the vigilante's were occupied making angry eyes at each other.

"Do you know how many people I have killed?", the Man in the Hood asked. "Don't move."

The woman who'd been holding him hostage with little more than a look – and evidence that she had made easy work of his guards – gripped her weapon even tighter at the comment. The other man seemed to notice because he switched his bow to his other hand as if to indicate that he hadn't come for blood. Her blood, anyway. Well, maybe Holder could get out after all if they got anymore involved in their own turf war. The man turned back to him.

"You rent squalid apartments out to good people and you equip them with malfunctioning fire detectors. Do you know how many people your fires have killed?!"

The woman's head shot to him. She moved closer.

"We hadn't gotten to that yet."

The Hood frowned.

"Then why are you here?"

"The drugs he stashes in his cellars for the mob. And when the police come raid them, the tenants get arrested and it's their words against his, so they have to pay the price."

"Not very neighborly of him."

"Oh, that's just the tip of the iceberg. Those fires – convenient how so many of them started in houses the police had raided or considered raiding."

The Man in the Hood turned his full attention to Somers again. With two quick strides he was on him, both hands gripping his bathrobe tightly, pulling Holder toward himself

"You set fires in your houses to obscure your drug trafficking and what were your tenants to you?! Convenient cover stories? No one would look too closely at the drug connection with the cost of human lives!"

The woman cleared her throat.

"Fine, almost no one," the other vigilante sighed, but the woman wasn't done yet. She approached both of them, and carefully pried Holder loose from the other man's grip. One of her hands replaced it immediately by grabbing onto the business man's shoulder, but her disapproving gaze was focused on her partner in crime. She tutted softly at him.

"Get in line, Green Bean," she chided. "I got word that there's a shipment coming in the next couple of days and I want to know when and where."

"Listen, if it's money that you wa-"

Without a moment's hesitation, the woman grabbed on with her other hand and pulled him down toward her rising knee. It impacted in the dead center of his chest, knocking the wind out of him. Holder gasped for air as pain shot through his entire chest and wandered down into his legs, radiated outward to his fingertips. Everything hurt. He couldn't speak, couldn't think for the pain. One knee to the chest and, for a single, brief but agonizing moment, he was blind, deaf and mute from the sensory overload. Worse, he could feel some of his ribs give, cracking and breaking against the onslaught. The woman looked so petite, but she had taken out his guard. Holder could only imagine what damage she might have done to them. As soon as his senses returned he wheezed curses and insults at her. At first she remained unfazed, waited for him to catch his breath, but once he was up to all but yelling at her, her hand closed painfully around his throat. She squeezed just hard enough to make breathing take conscious effort, but not enough to make him slip into unconsciousness. Panic gripped him then.

"Okay, okay, I admit I store drugs for the Chinese okay. Somers got me into the business, okay?! He needed a place away from the docks; they were too often raided by the police."

"Not interested in your sob story. When and where?", she asked again, tightening her grip for a brief moment.

"How should I know?! They don't tell me anything, the slit-eyed bast-"

Her foot landed hard on his knee making it snap in the wrong direction and he screamed. Holder's eyes fell on the make vigilante. He noticed that the other man had leaned backward a bit, but whether in horror or fascination, he couldn't tell. The leg below his knee felt like it would fall off, there was so much pain. Tears sprung to his eyes in streams, blurred his vision as he tried to breathe through it. The woman was still looking at him expectantly.

"Day after tomorrow, Dock 52, 7:30pm I think!", he yelled.

"You think?!", she asked pointedly.

Before Holder could answer, a shot rung out and he keeled over dead. The two vigilantes reacted without thinking, ducking behind the nearby bar. As they threw themselves to the ground, Oliver instinctively covered her body with his own, pressing her closer to the floor trying to minimize their potential target area. A few more shots followed and Oliver finally got up to respond to the fire. He could hear her calling him an idiot, but ignored her commentary. He felt a bullet graze his arm and hissed in pain, but when he cocked another arrow he could see a figure running from the sniper's location. He was retreating.

"It's over. He's gone," he informs the woman still crouching behind the bar. He briefly checks her over for any injuries, but she seemed fine. She was on her feet quickly in any case and took hold of his arm. He pulled it out of her grip. "It's just a graze."

"Lucky you. What were you thinking?!"

"Someone was shooting at us; I was responding to the fire."

"Yes, yes, shooting at us, With a rifle. A sniper with a rifle and you thought it smart to 'respond to the fire' with a weapon from the stone age?!" A part of her dispassionately took notice both of his apparent well-being and her own near-hysterical state of worry mixed with anger. Clearly, he had managed to get under her skin in a very short amount of time. Best stick to anger, then.

"At least I have a long-range weapon. All you could do was cower behind the bar," he retorted. God, that woman frustrated him at times! Was this what she meant about parenting him, because he already had a mother! He watched her jaw tighten at his comment and felt a twinge of regret for how harsh it sounded, then shoved it down with extreme prejudice. It was her fault that it came out and he was right anyhow. Then something shifted on her face, something closed up like she was hiding something. She huffed and turned away, perhaps to cover it up. Too late, he had seen it, though he wasn't sure what to make of it. He couldn't see anything that might be counted as a long range weapon, except maybe her three-part staff and even he couldn't have thrown that all the way to the other building. Other than that she carried only a pouch strapped to her leg. It didn't seem big enough to carry anything that might have helped in this situation, but he couldn't be sure.

"So, drugs?", he said in order to get the conversation going again. Holder was dead, but if he could find out who killed him and why, maybe the criminal scumbag could still help clean his city up.

"Hmm, yeah," she answered distractedly as if just coming out of her own thoughts. "A good load was found in the cellars of two separate apartment buildings, both incidentally owned by Holder. The tenant families were arrested, children put into the system."

"And they implicated Holder?"

"They were too scared to say anything to the poli-" She stopped abruptly. They stared at each other, realizing simultaneously that she had just let a huge piece of information slip. After a moment he watched her turn away to curse under her breath. So, she had an informant in the police. Well, it made sense. She had been working at this for eighteen months and building relations with the police made sense. He might do it himself if he thought any of them – of the trustworthy ones anyway – would give him the time of day. She had not filled the morgue with the corpses of deadbeats and crime bosses, though, so perhaps she had supporters in the force. Certainly there must be some who welcomed a helping hand. Law enforcement across the country was notoriously overworked and understaffed. And underpaid to boot.

"And what happened to 'no torture'?"

"I never said I didn't beat stuff out of criminals. Really, considering I get this dressed up at all that much should have been obvious. I had gone to find Somers to stop you from killing him and then you suggested your plan and I had to complain about something for it to work."

He looked unconvinced.

"I only give them a beating though, no sharp, pointy objects – and I certainly draw the line at cutting them up or otherwise actually killing them."

He took a moment to contemplate that, but her next words cut right into it.

"We ought to leave," she suddenly said, jumping him out of his reverie. She was right of course. The shots must have been reported. Staying here to chat at all had been dangerous. She made her way to the side of the roof to look down, before adding. "And quickly. They're here."

His first reaction was not what she had expected. He went over to Holder's body, still sprawled out on the floor where he had fallen. When he pulled out another arrow, she was about to make a comment regarding overkill, but then realized he was digging one of the bullets out of the man's body. She protested that that was evidence, but he gave her a look and she had to admit it probably was the least illegal thing either of them had done tonight. He then turned to fire a cable across at another building, regrettably not the one with the sniper as the police was sure to search that too. Then he turned back and held out his hand to her. Well, what sort of a gentleman would he be if he didn't offer a lady a get-out-of-jail-free card. He doubted her contact could get her out of this one.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

Waking up, his first thought was that he was grateful he had survived. Grateful Yao Fei had shown him the usefulness of these herbs. Grateful he had brought them with him. The bullet had been laced with a poisonous substance. He would have to analyze it carefully to find out what poison exactly it had introduced into his system. Suddenly, he was also grateful that the Woman in Black didn't have a long-range weapon to respond to the attack with, or else had chosen to do the smart thing and stay behind cover, because if she had been poisoned, at this hour she would have been likely dead without access to Yao Fei's herbs. On the other hand, a hospitalization might have told him who she was, but Oliver found he would not have wanted to find out like that – on her deathbed. He shook himself free of the sentimental thoughts and of the memories from the island which had resurfaced during the time he had been unconscious. He didn't like to think back to that time. As dear as the friends he had made were to him, it was a time filled only with heartache in the end.

He really ought to get going, he thought. Getting on his feet was difficult, his body still aching from its fight against the poison. He groaned, closing his eyes. When he opened them again after counting to ten to focus his mind against the pain, his gaze fell on a nearby clock. He was running late. Again. His mother would kill him if she found out that he had slipped out of the house without Diggle last night and not returned until late in the morning. He made his way quickly across town, but left his bike near the back of his family estate, outside the fence to avoid suspicion. In one fluid movement he was over the fence and sneaking up to the house. He was stopped dead in his tracks briefly by his father's nominal grave, a tug inside him commanding him to stay for a moment. Moving closer, he softly laid his hand on the gravestone, feeling the smooth marble under his fingertips. It was cold, not like his father had been when he had... But his father had turned cold before they reached the island. So cold, but not as smooth as this stone, no. He had been a nightmare to look upon, rotting there beside him in the lifeboat, but Oliver could not even contemplate throwing him overboard and leaving him adrift in the ocean forever. If he could not bring his father home, he would at least find him a final resting place.

"There you are, Mr Queen," Diggle's voice reached him muted. "You better come inside."

Something in the man's voice caught his attention and made him turn around.

"Trouble?", he asked.

"Ms Queen seems to have been involved in some sort of incident," the bodyguard answered with his usual reticence. "The police brought her back home. She's fine, just bleary-eyed and unapologetic."

Oliver rushed into the house to catch the tail end of a brief statement by the arresting officer. Apparently, his sister and some friends, all with Black American Express cards, had opted to stealing clothes rather than buying them. More fun that way. Oliver could feel himself fuming. He hadn't been the best brother as far as examples to follow were concerned, but he had never wanted this for Thea. He was far from a model, law-abiding citizen, but at least he was trying to make a difference. Thea, on the other hand, seemed to do it for the kicks as well as to drive their mother crazy.

"You know, I think I'm going to take a sick day," Thea told their mother when the subject of school came up. Oliver wanted to snort, but the bemusement failed him when his mother simply acquiesced.

"Alright, into bed, then." And Thea was out the door.

"Mom, you can't just let her get away with it."

"I've learned that it's best to leave your sister alone when she's in one of her moods. It's best to give her her space."

"Mom, she's testing you."

"Yes," Moira answered matter-of-factly. "And who do you think she learned that from?"

Oliver's jaw squared. She was right, of course, but that was the whole point.

"Looking back on it, I could have used a little less space and a little more parenting," he admittedly quietly, but firmly. His mother stared at him in astonishment for a moment, but then smiled tentatively. Her gaze moved to where Thea had left, just before she followed her daughter with confident strides. Oliver looked after her, heaving a sigh and hoping that this would help Thea.

"Are you a sleeping in kinda person, Mr Queen?"

Diggle's question surprised him only momentarily. He had been before the island, but ever since then he rose even before the sun – when he wasn't rendered unconscious by a poisoned bullet. Still, he supposed Diggle was looking for an explanation for Oliver showing up so late in the morning. His pre-island ways, used as a front, had made for a good enough cover for his visit to Adam Hunt and in front of his family so far. The bodyguard had unwittingly provided him with another piece to the cover and a perfect excuse for his odd hours. Party hard, sleep long.

"Gathered that from this morning, did you?"

"I figured given your previous lifestyle-"

"Got me all figured out then; I told you it wouldn't take you long."

"-which is why I checked your bedroom first when you hadn't shown up at breakfast. Then your father's grave."

He left it at that, not elaborating on what it meant that he hadn't been in either of those places. Not quitting, Oliver noted thankfully. He cocked his head at the veteran, wondering if perhaps the very reason he had threatened to quit was what kept him here as well. Oliver's mysterious disappearances, a puzzle that Mr Diggle intended to solve perhaps. In any case, it gave Oliver additional time to come up with a way to approach the man about a joint venture to fight crime in their city. As Mr Diggle had pointed out to him, home was a battlefield. He just didn't know how right he was, but with some persuasion and a dose of luck, Oliver would gain a useful ally. After all, who better to confront a battlefield with than a soldier. Even he knew he couldn't fight this war alone.

He gave a twitch of a smirk, then motioned for Diggle to come along. They picked up Tommy and made their way to his father's abandoned factory under which Oliver had made his headquarters. He told Tommy he wanted to open a nightclub in the factory and asked him what he thought about it. The club would serve the purpose of hiding his base of operations below and give him a convenient alibi for where he spent his nights when he was out late patrolling the streets of Starling City. So Tommy's opinion technically didn't matter, but Oliver wanted him to be on board with his idea somehow. He'd had friends on the island, but with the constant danger there, it had never been a good idea to get too attached. Not that he hadn't done that anyway, but he'd never forgotten his best friend and he'd missed Tommy and even all the stupid things they would do. He wouldn't do them now, not really, couldn't risk being irresponsible. He wanted something else to share with his oldest friend, something that would last even if it was just part of his cover.

"I have to say, Oliver," Tommy began, bemusedly, "you don't exactly have a lot of experience running a... well, anything. Tell you what, how about we stake out the competition a bit. Max Fuller opened a new club just recently and it's supposed to be where all the cool kids go. Why don't we head over there and do a little reconnaissance?!"

"Max Fuller?", Oliver questioned doubtfully, giving Tommy a meaningful look. "I slept with his wife."

"Fiancé. Before the wedding." Tommy smirked a little and Oliver couldn't help but mimic him. They both clearly remembered that incident very well. He could practically feel Diggle roll his eyes in disapproval even as the man remained a couple of feet away, which just made the whole thing even funnier.

"It was at the rehearsal dinner."

"The rehearsal dinner is technically before the wedding. Besides, who stays mad at a castaway?" They were both chuckling now. A noise from Tommy's phone. "Ah, shoots, I have to go, but I'll text you the address later okay?!"

Without waiting for an answer he was making his way outside with quick steps. Oliver could only look after him. Not as irresponsible as before he left on the Gambit, but still a pretty stupid idea and they would do it anyway. It felt good being partners in crime with Tommy again. It felt right. It felt like home. He took a deep breath. Sometimes he still had trouble believing that he'd made it, that he was home. At night he slept fitfully, nightmares of his time on the island haunting him, and when he awoke he was always scared that he had returned her. That he'd never gotten away from there. It always took him a moment to realize he was in his own bed at home. Oliver took another breath to shake the thoughts, before turning to Diggle.

"So, what do you think?"

"I'm here to provide security, sir, not a commentary."

"Please, Diggle, speak freely."

"Your rich friends won't come to the Glades."

"Well, I'm Oliver Queen, right? If I open a club, people will stand in line for three hours to get in."

"And the people of the Glades won't see a dime of the money they bring with them."

"If the club's a success, it'll help gentrify the community," Oliver replied. This was nice. T felt like a sparring match with Diggle having an answer for everything and no shortage of complaints, but it was nice nonetheless. He realized he valued Diggle's opinion and wanted him to support his idea. Especially since he wanted to bring him into the other aspect of the club.

"Ah, I was wondering when we'd get to that," the bodyguard mused. At Oliver's confused look, he elaborated. "The white knight saving the oppressed and disenfranchised."

"You don't have a very high opinion of me, do you, Dig?", he asked with some amusement. It was his own fault after all; he'd told the man to think him shallow and self-centered.

"On the contrary, sir, I think very highly of how... perceptive you are," the other man retorted with a sly smile.

Oliver couldn't help but smirk in return. He had certainly chosen the right man to bring into his fold, though he hadn't quite figured out when or how to do it. One step at a time, though, and he had come here for more than just to gather opinions. He wanted to analyze that bullet, so he needed to distract his ever watchful bodyguard for a bit to slip into the basement. He had just the idea to do that, too. Funnily enough, the man himself had provided him with the perfect excuse to send him away for a bit without arousing suspicion.

"Well, as you said, we're in the Glades – not the best part of town – and I'll be spending a lot of time here. I was wondering if you could do a perimeter check and get back to me with some ideas for security measures."

"Bit early for that, isn't it? Right now this place is nothing but an abandoned factory."

"I want to start building as soon as possible and I figure it's easier to integrate optimal security at the planning stage rather than when everything is said and done. I would have thought you agreed." He gave Diggle the most sincere smile he was capable of. After a moment of suspicious scrutiny, it seemed he passed muster. Diggle gave a single, short nod and began his walk around the perimeter. He didn't ask for any paper and pencils, but Oliver figured he would have everything perfectly memorized anyway. The vigilante waited for Diggle to be out of sight, then slipped down to his base. He grabbed the bloody gauze first, dropping a solution on it that should give off a different color tinge depending on what poison was used. It wasn't foolproof, of course, as there were loads of poison this solution didn't react to, but with a bit of luck... His blood on the guaze began to shine bright blue and Oliver's heart almost stopped. Curare. The bullet was laced with Curare, one of the deadliest poisons in the world. There was no particular reason for a sniper to poison their bullets unless they expected to miss. This man had clearly been a professional, so it must be his particular MO. A quick, illegal look around Interpol's data revealed that there was no picture of him (that was of any use, anyway), that he'd killed all around the world and was very sought after because he apparently never missed. Oliver even found that Interpol had given him a nickname.

Deadshot.

Sufficiently impressive, he supposed. Certainly better than The Man with the Hood, or just The Hood as the press was calling him. Part of him as flattered that they had compared him repeatedly with Robin Hood, a childhood hero of many, but he wasn't out to literally make a name for himself. Scrunching up his nose in distaste, he turned to analyze the bullet. He didn't have much time before Diggle would finish his round and realize he had disappeared again. Oliver wanted to be back upstairs by then. Ballistic analysis – and thank God he could invest in a fully equipped, personal CSI lab – showed that it was a 7.62mm caliber. Local police files suggested that it was mostly the Bratva that dealt with these. Knowing this, he could follow the money trail easily enough as a captain. Finally, a bit of luck. Now he just needed to slip away from Diggle again in order to go enlist their services for himself.

Ah, Diggle. He left everything as it was and rushed up the stairs. When he made it out the partially hidden door, he could hear Diggle yelling for him exasperatedly. Then a string of unflattering curses followed from his bodyguard's mouth. Oliver's mouth twitched; best he interfered now before his potential ally truly did hand his resignation. Rounding into view, the millionaire spread his arms in what he hoped was an innocent gesture.

"Sorry," he opened with that. Best to placate Diggle right away. The man in question jumped slightly, a hand reaching for his gun before he realized it was his charge. At that point, Oliver found himself on the receiving end of a nasty glare. "I slipped down to the basement to evaluate the storage facilities. I couldn't hear you."

"Next time, warn a man," came the grumbled reply, one hand shaking his phone in Oliver's view.

"Sorry," Oliver said again, because they both knew he wouldn't.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(CNRI)_

Laurel was on her computer at work, but she wasn't working. She should be looking at depositions and case files, but a piece of news had caught her attention (and it was practically time to go home anyway, or so her dad, Joanna and Ted would say). Oliver Queen was to open a nightclub. She wanted to snort. Five years ago the idea would have been ludicrous, because the man, at least according to his reputation, didn't have one mature body in his bone and certainly wouldn't think about going into business for himself. Now, five years and countless tragedies in his life later and knowing him a little, she still found it ludicrous, but now it was because he had seemed mature enough that such a backwards move did not seem possible. She could be wrong – clearly she was – after all, she had only spent, what, a couple of hours with him. Granted, those were intense with in-depth conversation about family and friends and a hired attacker crashing their meeting, but nonetheless she didn't really know him. She wondered what the point was in opening a nightclub. Well, it wasn't really her concern, unless Joanna decided to try and drag her there in order to make her go out.

Speak of the devil, she heard the woman in question approach her at a rapid pace from behind. Blindly trying to click away the news piece while distracting her friend with fake cheerfulness, she turned around halfway to face the other lawyer. Joanna politely asked for a file before she went for the jugular. Laurel expected nothing less; top notch lawyer impeccable manners.

"Really, you bring the guy back from the dead and now you're stalking him?" And there it was; the frontal assault as she frantically searched for the file to get her friend of her back.

"I'm not stalking him!", she protested immediately and even she had to admit that it came out a bit fast. Okay, so maybe she was a bit fascinated by him. He had seemed nice enough, nothing like his reputation or the bits and pieces that Sara had fed her about her on-off relationship with the playboy millionaire. It made her wonder what he'd gone through for five years that had left him so changed, yet so desperately trying to cling to his previous normal as his performance at the inauguration and his plans to open a nightclub proved. She felt guilty too, because she had been the one to give him the advice of showing his family the person he wanted them to see him as. If she had known what he would do with that advice... Oh, she could throttle him!

"Really, because a minute ago I found you trolling for articles about him on the Internet, then the outburst denying it and just now you practically zoned out thinking about him, didn't you?"

Laurel chose to address the only point on that list that left her dignity somewhat intact.

"I wasn't trolling. I happened on it and it drew my attention, so I read it. That's all."

"Right..." Joanna was clearly unconvinced. As if for emphasis, she lifted the file Laurel had been scrambling for despite her internal monologue right from under her nose. "Look, Laurel, far be it from me to tell you how to live your life or who to befriend, but that guy is trouble."

"That's not fair! He's not the same as before... you know."

"Before the Gambit sank, you mean. With Sara on it."

That earned her a surprised look from Laurel. No one mentioned Sara around her anymore. No one. Few people even knew who Sara was to Laurel. Her surprise quickly turned into a frown, then a glare as a familiar ache settled in her chest. She had lost enough the day the Gambit sank without needing any reminders. Joanna looked back at her dumbstruck. She hadn't expected that to come out of her mouth either.

"Sorry, just... be careful. He's been bad news all his life. That's a hard habit to shake."

"Five years in hell could straighten anyone out. And it wasn't his fault that the ship sank. He didn't make it storm, Joanna."

"No, I know, just..." Rather than repeat the warning, she decided to go off on a tangent. "Does he know? About..." She didn't say the name, not again. Joanna knew how her friend's heart bled every time she was reminded.

"No, it's not exactly something that comes up in conversation a lot. I know I should probably tell him, but... I don't know. Nevermind."

A heavy silence. Joanna was the first to recover, lightening the mood with her favorite threat.

"Whatever you say, but we're going out tonight. We're going to clubs, we will drink too much, dance all night with men we don't know and _we_ are going to have a great time."

"I can't tonight." Automatic response, really, but she was smiling again too. Between training and patrolling, she hadn't really had a night life for the last eighteen months.

"It is so funny that you think I'm actually giving you a choice," Joanna replied, then indicated behind her to something or someone redirecting her attention. Her father was coming toward them, his face grim. Because that could only spell trouble, Laurel was about to reiterate her refusal of a night out, but Joana had already disappeared to God knew where by the time she turned back around to her friend. She cursed inwardly; there was no way to avoid it, really. If she didn't come willingly, Joanna would drag her kicking and screaming. Ted would be no help either, he'd just agree with her that Laurel needed a night off. Her father reached her, engulfing her in a hug without pause or warning.

"What happened?"

"You know about Holder?"

"Yeah," she replied. Nothing else was needed. Quentin understood at a glance that she had been there. The tone of her voice was heavy, too, with anger and guilt at not having been able to do anything for the man. He may have been a scumbag, but he didn't deserve to be shot by a sniper. He should have faced a court. A thought came to her as she recalled all the news reports she had seen. She lowered her voice to a whisper that only he could here as she maneuvered them to a secluded corner of the office. "Dad, it wasn't the Hood. He was there, but he didn't do anything. I was questioning Holder about the drugs when he was hit by two rounds of bullets in the chest and fell to the ground."

"We only found one bullet, but two bullet holes."

"The Hood took the other one. Probably to do his own ballistic analysis."

Quentin grinned a little maliciously.

"What, he doesn't have an in with a detective?"

Laurel hit him lightly against the arm, but shared his grin.

"So, either he's scaring the ballistics report out of some tech expert somewhere, or he has both the knowledge and equipment to do the analysis himself," the detective mused. Something to file away for later, both in the police profile as well as their own little brainstorming project for what he sometimes referred to as the Canary Project. Or else as the bane of his existence...

"Why does the police think it was him?"

"Because they are idiots sometimes. They want to believe it; it's easier. It's convenient, but I didn't believe it for a second. The guy doesn't shoot Holder from another building, then goes over, picks a fight with his guards-"

"That was me, actually. He joined me and Holder on the roof."

"- just to shoot off a couple of arrows. It's ridiculous. Classic case of twisting the facts to fit the theory, rather than adjusting the theory to fit the facts."

"How very Sherlockian of you, dad."

"That means there's someone else," Quentin went on as if he hadn't heard her. God, he'd almost forgotten having read those stories to her when she was a kid. He had figured he might as well read her something he enjoyed as well. It had inspired her to follow him into the field of law, but he was forever grateful that she had chosen not to be a cop, or at least he had been until she also chose to follow in her mother's footsteps and become a vigilante. He truly hoped that was the only way she would mimic her mother. He chastised himself mentally at that. It wasn't fair to Dinah. No matter what had occurred between them she was Laurel's mother and a good woman and it hadn't all been bad.

"The bullets were laced with curare. According to Interpol that's the MO of a Floyd Louton, a professional hitman who goes by Deadshot."

"How did you- Oh, no, don't tell me, you and gym boy hacked Interpol – are you nuts?!"

"His name is Ted, dad, and it's probably the least illegal thing we have done. Relax, we were careful."

"Tell me you're not going after the hitman." Quentin let the hacking go, because he knew she would do it again in a heartbeat and because he had bigger things to worry about.

"Go after him how? I have no way of knowing where he is and he's probably not even in the city anymore what with his hit done."

"Good, good. Thank God for small..." Something caught her father's attention over her shoulder. She turned to see a news report on silent about another man shot down. Quickly reaching for a nearby remote control, Laurel turned on the volume. Apparently, Carl Rasmussen was shot dead only a short while ago by a sniper, gunned down in broad daylight and in the middle of the street. Quentin sighed. "We were saying..."

Laurel turned to him.

"No," was the first thing her father said.

"Dad, I've got to find him. He is obviously not done killing and if there's two victims, there might be three later today or tomorrow."

"The police can-"

"The police can't even admit Holder wasn't killed by the Hood. They'd be too slow. Not to mention that the Hood is probably after him as well. Can you imagine the blood bath if he gets there first?", she asked and it was a nasty tactic, but effective. Her father acquiesced and promised to make some quiet inquiries on her behalf while she would do some searching on the streets. Of course, she wasn't going there to stop the Hood exactly, but to help stop Deadshot, preferably without any more death.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

( _Poison_ )

As Oliver and Tommy entered Max Fuller's club late that night, because according to Tommy decent clubbing didn't get started until after midnight (which basically explained all of his and Oliver's youth), the first thing Oliver noted was that the club was aptly named _Poison_. It fit with how the last couple of days had been going for him, poison was in fact the dominant theme, whether he considered curare or lead poisoning from the docks. The heavy beat of the music was also giving him earache. He didn't remember it being so loud in clubs before he'd left on the Gambit, but maybe the relative quiet of the island, occasional gunfire, explosions and screams of pain notwithstanding, that had sharpened his sense of hearing had also left him too sensitive for his previous life. He hadn't felt it so keenly the night of his return party, but then he had barely paid attention to it because he'd had a different objective the entire time. Now he found he was mostly bothered by all the ruckus and the tumbling masses.

"Oh, this will be a killer night!", Tommy chimed gleefully.

"If Max Fuller sees me, I agree," Oliver deadpanned in return.

The second thing he noticed was that he'd lost his bodyguard again, this time without even trying to. He briefly considered helping Diggle out when he was called to, but then the mischievous playboy billionaire side couldn't have that. So instead he pretended not to know the man, winked at Diggle and made his way further into the club. Tommy was laughing at his side until they joined the general throng of people and their eyes fell on Laurel Lance. She was sitting at the bar, watching her attorney friend writhe in time with the beat a mere few paces away and trying to beckon Laurel to join her. Laurel just shook her head at her friend, but the smile on her face belied her enjoyment.

"Should we join her?", Oliver wondered out loud.

"Can't leave her alone at a bar," Tommy replied, both of them sharing similar grins.

They made a move toward the attorney when a petite brunette rounded on them. Knowing that Oliver's mother had grounded her, he and Tommy were surprised to come face to face with a very inebriated Thea. Oliver could feel himself tense up immediately and could see Tommy's reaction to the change in his face making clear that Thea was in trouble. He could tell Tommy wanted to stick around and help, but he motioned for him to go on with a smile that said: no need for both of our evenings being ruined. A glance at Thea's face revealed the same stubborn set to her jaw that her brother had adopted, so both Oliver and Tommy could guess there would be a minor Queen drama tonight. Tommy was like family, but he didn't deserve to be dragged into the parenting mess that was going on around his little sister. Oliver loved Thea, so much, but God she was unbelievable sometimes. Just because he had been a reckless, rebellious teenager with a minor drug problem didn't mean she should follow in his footsteps. On the contrary, she should take it as a negative example and do the exact opposite.

"I thought mom grounded you."

"Yeah," Thea told him with a dismissive smirk. "Thanks for that by the way."

Oliver rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"Grab your coat. We're going home," he informed her, taking hold of her arm.

"Get your hands off of me!", Thea barked back bitingly. "Ever since you returned from that island, you seem to think you get to control everybody's lives. That everyone has to answer to and accommodate you, but you do as you please and you don't care who you hurt – and I am NOT going home with you!

"Oh," she said, turning around one more time. "Some friend you have; he's flirting with your pretty attorney."

Oliver's head turned in the pair's direction automatically and he felt a twinge of bother he didn't understand and couldn't analyze. He was still too raw from Thea's disappointment.

"You're not my father," she reminded him without hesitation. Then she leaned close to deliver the final blow, because everything she'd said so far was true. "You're barely my brother..."

Leaving the implications hanging in the air, she brushed past him and Oliver was too stunned, hurt and guilt-ridden to do anything about it. He stood numb where she had left him.

At the bar, Tommy had joined Laurel and offered to buy her another drink, eying the almost empty martini glass in front of her. Laurel had smiled gently, but asked him to get her a soda instead. She liked to control her intake of alcohol on a night out. Her father's example after her mother had... She had been young, but not so young as to not understand or not remember. Oh, she would never forget. Tommy had looked at her with surprise, but had gotten her a seltzer without questioning her motives or her sanity.

"I'm frankly surprised that you're here and not working, Laurel Lance," Tommy admitted jokingly. "You seemed such a hard-working woman when we met in court the other day, rushing off right after resurrecting my friend. Are you sure you're not hiding deposits to go over in your clutch."

"Just Laurel, please – and no jokes calling me 'Justlaurel' either," she added as an afterthought.

Tommy grinned and offered her his name as well. Formalities dispensed with, he cocked an eyebrow still waiting for her answer. It took her a moment to realize what he wanted, then she indicated her friend who had shifted her attention to an attractive dancer next to her now that Laurel was occupied and couldn't just sneak away.

"She threatened to drag me kicking and screaming if I didn't 'come quietly'."

Tommy looked from one petite brunette to the other one and his eyes turned misty for a moment imagining the implications. Laurel nodded at something over his shoulder, indicating where Oliver was arguing with Thea. Tommy sighed. This night hadn't turned out the way they had hoped at all so far.

"How is he?", Laurel asked carefully.

"Difficult to say. He keeps everyone at arm's length. Shuts them out. And he keeps busy. I was hoping tonight could get him back to normal, but... well, you see how that went."

"He was alone on an island for five years," she mused quietly.

"So, what? He gets a free pass at hurting his family?"

"No, it means he hasn't had to account for anybody else in a long time. He was totally isolated, his decision affected nobody else. It's a hard habit to break." She winced; now she sounded like Joanna.

"He's not on the island anymore."

"Does he know that?", Laurel asked him pointedly and it gave Tommy pause. For all the complaints he'd gotten from Thea, which had had a part in trying to bring his friend out tonight (Oliver's new club enterprise giving him the perfect angle), he hadn't considered that maybe Oliver wasn't doing it with malicious intent. That maybe he just didn't know how to think of other people beside himself, wasn't used to it anymore. It made sense, Tommy supposed. Five years were words that were thrown around, but he hadn't really considered the implications. Five years with nobody around; it was a surprise his friend was as sane as he was.

"We have to teach him how to not be an island anymore," he concluded. It would take a lot of patience and perseverance, judging by how his friend had acted recently. He turned back to Laurel with a look of astonishment on his face. She was just full of surprises tonight. "How did you get it and not me? I'm his best friend."

"I'd be an island too sometimes if it weren't for her," she said nodding again to her friend. " She's scary when she's determined. Something about letting loose."

"Oh, yeah, that should be criminal!"

"Having fun."

"Wouldn't that interfere with the dour faces attorneys are supposed to make."

"Meeting someone new..."

"That's always so tiresome. Unless that person is me," he qualified his statement.

"Aren't I lucky," Laurel smiled back genuinely. Tommy may not have been particularly humble, but the soft smile he was giving her told her he actually cared. She'd bet CNRI that he was a good friend. Loyal, spontaneous, funny – never serious, mind, but he'd always be by your side. Something over his shoulder caught her eye again. "Friend of yours?", she asked, but by the grimness of Oliver's face she could tell meeting Max Fuller had not been on his list tonight.

"Uh, oh, seems Max holds a grudge after all. I better go..."

"Grudge for what?", he heard her ask.

"Ollie slept with his fiancé...", came his mumbled reply. He didn't know if she had hear him, but he didn't care. He quickly followed Fuller and his bodyguards as they let his best friend away from the crowds to a secluded compartment. Tommy arrived just in time to see Fuller punch Oliver in the face, making his friend's fist clench by his side as if he wanted to punch back, but restrained himself very hard. As Fuller made space for his goons, Tommy leaped the last couple of feet to get between them and Oliver.

"Leave him alone! If you want him, you'll have to go through me first."

They looked unimpressed.

He looked back toward Oliver. "Oh God, I think they will go through me first," he said with part humor and part panic. Turning back to the three goons, he punched the first one without further hesitation. As if that were the starting signal, they all bounced on him and Ollie at once. They valiantly fought back, but they weren't cut out for this. They had spend their youth clubbing, not brawling despite public opinion to the contrary. Soon Tommy found himself on the floor with one guy kicking his side. The pain got worse with every hit, then suddenly there was a surprised, painful yelp that came from neither him nor Oliver and the assault stopped. He got up just in time to see Laurel spin Max around by his arm and shove him to the floor. Looking up at her from his position on the floor, he blinked. Risking a sideways glance he could tell Oliver was equally dumbfounded. Laurel stood there, immaculate in her little black dress and heels, over Max Fuller, a man twice her size, rubbing a palm over her fist as if she'd just walked out of a b-class action movie, but the threat was clear enough to thicken the air.

"Are we done here, Max, or are you gonna have your goons pound on me next?", she asked casually and the room seemed to hold its breath. Tommy wanted to do something, warn her that Fuller actually might do just that, but he couldn't find his voice. In the end it wasn't necessary. Max cowered under her withering glare and merely banned them for life, before leading his gorillas back into the main hall.

"How did you...?", Oliver began to ask.

"Cop daughter. Dad made me take self-defense classes," she answered matter-of-factly. "Now why would you two come to club after sleeping with the owner's fiancé?!"

They winced. Her tone was questioning their sanity.

"For the record, I didn't sleep with her," Tommy clarified.

"And I said this was a bad idea from the start," Oliver mentioned quietly.

Laurel looked about as impressed as Max' goons had looked at Tommy.

"Also for the record, we had this under control," Tommy added.

"Didn't look like it to me, but I can call them back in here; let you deal with it like gentlemen. I'll just call the ambulance first, shall I?"

She turned to make her way back to the bar, presumably where she had left her clutch, but Oliver was by her side in two quick strides and held her gently back by her arm.

"What my friend meant was: thank you for saving our asses."

Her gaze raked over both of them, before a devilish smirk graced her features.

"Infinitely worth saving."

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Queen Residence)_

"You are going to bid at the auction of the liquidated Unidac Industries," Quentin said early the next morning and after the requested detour to a source who might find Deadshot for his daughter, accommodated in the Queen residence's extravagant parlor. To his right, Hilton was taking notes, while Walter Steel and Moira Queen were sitting opposite him. All under the watchful eye of the family's security chief, whose gaze the detective could feel drilling into his back. The tension thickened considerably with his remark. He could see his partner casting him a furtive warning glance as everyone's attention immediately became focused.

"Unidac Industries is a bit of a misnomer; they were mostly researching alternative forms of energy prior to their liquidation. Queen Consolidated wants to expand its capacity and commitment in this sector, so, yes, I will be making a bid at the auction on behalf of the company.

"You have – or rather had – that in common with Mr Holder and Mr Rasmussen." He could feel the hackles rising all around him at the veiled threat. Moira Queen bristled visibly. They exchanged a look filled with both surprise and indignation on her part. Quentin didn't care much. If she threatened to have her lawyer rain down suits on him and the precinct that would not only be to type, but actually make the Queens even more suspect.

"I'm not sure I like what you're implying, detective," the matriarch barked back with a narrowed glare. She shifted agitatedly on the couch and may have been about to send them packing when Walter softly brushed her arm and clasped her hand. He was the only one who seemed wholly unaffected by the topic of discussion, which meant one of two things to the detective. Either he was not involved or he was very confident about his cover. Quentin shifted his gaze to the man in question and waited for response.

"Unidac will be sold to the highest bidder at a public auction. Mr Holder and Mr Rasmussen are merely two bidders in a veritable sea of them. If I were, as you suggest, trying to thin the competition, I would have an awful lot of killing to do in a very short amount of time, detective."

The calm, matter-of-fact tone Walter Steele adopted had the desired effect as Quentin's gut instinct told him the man was not involved. He had not truly thought so before either, of course; whatever issues he had with the Queen family and one member in particular, Walter Steele had, in the few dealing he'd had with the man, always made the impression of a centered, good-natured man. Nonetheless, Hilton's quick, slightly apologetic interjection could probably not hurt, given the ire he could still feel wafting around the room or else the death glare Moira Queen was still giving him.

"Oh yes, I'm truly overwhelmed with Detective Lance's concern for my family," she replied acidly, before making her way out of the room in quick strides. Walter thought to hold her back by their clasped hands, but realized that Moira needed space right at this moment. Something had occurred, something perhaps he was not privy to. He would ask her about it later, but for now he returned to the two detectives.

"Thank you for taking the time to warn us," he said, though he, too, was aware that was not the primary function of the detectives' visit. "Our security chief Mr Diggle will take all the necessary precautions."

He stood and the police officers stood with him. Detective Hilton raised a hand.

"Please do not disturb yourself, Mr Steele. We'll find our way out."

Steele nodded at them and the two officers left without another word. Diggle escorted them to the door, something Quentin attributed to making sure they actually left. In the atrium they met up again with Moira Queen, arms crossed and tapping her nails lightly against the sleeve of her blouse. She fixed him with a gaze and Quentin sent his partner to wait by the car while he faced the proverbial dragon. Diggle carefully began inquiring if he should stay, but Moira politely, but coldly dismissed him. She waited until he was well out of earshot, before she approached further, uncomfortably invading Quentin's personal space.

"In all my years, I have never seen such a display of unprofessionalism from one of Starling City's finest."

"I was merely doing my job, asking the uncomfortable questions," he retorted angrily.

"No, you were deliberately attacking my family, making unsubstantiated accusations because they suited the burn of your anger," she hissed back at him. "Just like you were when questioning my son about his kidnapping! Don't think we didn't catch the accusation in your disbelieving tone! It wasn't subtle."

"I-"

"First my son, now my husband. You seem to have it in for my family, detective. Who's next?! Next time there's an active shooter at a school, will you come ask if Thea has thrown any tantrums lately?!"

"Your daughter is quite proficient in crime without the help of my 'unsubstantiated accusations'."

But that was the wrong thing to say. He knew it even before it came out of his mouth, but he couldn't stop himself. Over the years the sorrow he had carried had turned into anger, then when he could no longer be angry at those who rightfully deserved it, his anger had searched for something else, someone else to latch onto and Oliver Queen had given him the perfect target. He had too much money and too little conscience. He was a rich, spoiled brat, he had a criminal record and, even better, he was involved. Sara's death on the Gambit had broken her parents, leaving everyone in his family raging and raw, so his anger had eagerly latched onto the one arguably responsible for Sara being on the bloody boat in the first place. Every time he had to face the bastard, he was reminded of that smiling bastard leading precious Sara to her death. He had let it fester too long. Now he could feel the burn of his rage in his guts automatically rise even whenever confronted with his mother or his sister or Walter Steele or, hell, even Laurel on occasion. All of these people were innocent in the matter, even Queen had forced Sara to go on the ill-fated voyage with him, but even knowing this consciously, it was still easier to let the bile rise and lash out at those whose son had been returned to them. No miracle would return Sara to her parents and so he was left with nothing but his anger and hatred for comfort and nowhere to rightfully tether it to.

His phone rang. Without thinking about it, he dug it out of his pocket and answered.

"Lance," he greeted, then paused to let the other person speak. It was his criminal informant. He had discovered a possible location for Deadshot. Quentin wanted to curse and jump for joy at the same time. Now they had a chance to get the bastard who had already dropped two bodies in his city and countless across the globe, but he had also promised Laurel to tell her first... With an internal sigh, he texted her the address his contact had unearthed and vowed to himself that he would get the police there as soon as he got away from this- which returned his attention to the matter at hand.

He looked up to find Moira's jaw set in a way that frightened him. His own anger and contempt reflected back at him in her eyes, her teeth grinding together in an obvious effort not to alert the entire house by yelling. Nothing would come of this conversation and his remaining here to see it through could only make it worse, so he mumbled an incoherent excuse and made his way past the Queen's family matriarch. Before he could take another step toward the door, Moira's hand shot out like a snake looking to bite. She grabbed him firmly around the arm and yanked him back to face her. They were even closer now as her furious gaze bored into his eyes. When she let go of his arm just as quickly he thought for a moment that she might slap him. He had certainly done plenty to deserve it today. Instead she took a mechanical step backward, her back straightening as she regarded him. The anger faded from her eyes, only to leave cold indifference; the mask slipped back on.

"Since it is clear that you are biased toward my family, Detective Lance," she intoned icily, "I think it would be best that someone else interact with us on matters of importance to the police. Or else contact our lawyer, but _do not_ return to this house."

She turned on her heel and left him standing.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Hallway to Room 52)_

The Man in the Hood slowly worked his way toward Deadshot's room. He heard a door creak ahead of him and met the eyes of a short, middle-aged man who showed clear signs of drug abuse. He wasn't surprised given the squalor of the accommodation. With a small gesture of his bow, arrow already placed on the string, Oliver motioned for him to get back inside. The door locked immediately and and instant later, he could hear the lock and chain sliding into place. He paid the incident no more mind as he rounded the corner to where the assassin's room was located. Quietly inching forward, he assessed the strength of the door again. He'd done so with other doors already, but his mind all but automatically busied itself with the minute differences, assessing whether it might be more difficult with that particular door. It wouldn't. He stopped a few feet from the door, concentrating on his surroundings to see if he could perceive any noise from the room that would indicate if his man was home. Oliver didn't think he'd be anywhere else between hits, but as he still did not know who his target was if there were anymore targets, he couldn't be sure. Instead of the sounds of a television being on or water falling from the shower, Oliver perceived footsteps.

They were too light to be a man's; perhaps Deadshot enjoyed company to unwind between hits?! Oliver narrowed his eyes. Something didn't add up with that theory; given that Interpol had only one useless picture of the man, it seemed unlikely that he would be so careless as to invite a hooker to his hideout. Then what... More light footsteps and this time he finally realized that it was coming from behind him. He turned around all at once, his breath inadvertently catching, pulling the bowstring back a little further in his agitation, ready to fire. There a few feet from him was the black-clad vigilante, the wig's platinum blond hair framing a worried face and her hands, empty, devoid of her usual staff, raised in the air. She didn't move and, for a moment, neither did he. How had she found him? Or found Deadshot? Then he exhaled softly and lowered the bow. More importantly, he wondered when in the short time he had known her he had become so comfortable with her that he had not even noticed her approach as a potential threat. A tiny part of him was scared at the instant ease of his relationship with this woman, but he had no time to contemplate that. He had come here for a job and it was time he finished it.

Oliver turned back toward the door waiting for him. He did not doubt the Woman in Black would follow and she may disapprove of his plan to kill Deadshot, but he would cross that bridge when he came to it. Starting a fight now would only give the man advance warning. He hadn't moved to paces toward the door when a hand on his arm stopped him. Really, she wanted to do this now?! He was determined to ignore her, but her fingers dug into his leather and as they retreated her other hand came deliberate slowly into his peripheral, palm up. Oliver sighed internally, but chanced a glance at what she proffered him. On her palm were two silvery nubs. When he looked up at her face, her other hand was pointing to her ear. Earpieces? And why was she giving him two of them, but if it meant she'd let him advance, he decided he would humor her. He quickly slipped both earpieces in, expecting to hear static. Instead, there was only silence. He was about to remove them again, because clearly they didn't work, but the other vigilante was already moving past him to the other side of the door. One of her hands grabbed one part of her staff, the other disappeared into the pouch on her thigh just as he kicked the door in.

He got an arrow off, before Deadshot responded to the attack and he had to duck behind the door. He had noticed that his occasional partner had not joint in the fight and the killer probably didn't even know she was there. In the brief seconds before the firing interval, he noticed that the woman had pulled out a small metallic object. Turning to fire off two more arrows, one of which the assassin ducked under while he blocked the other with the mattress of his bed, he noted that the object was round and silver, except for a small patch just below her thumb, which was black. As Oliver ducked behind the wall again, she pushed on that small area and it gave under the pressure. A slight beep was heard before the vigilante threw the little ball into the room while Deadshot continued firing. A hand grenade didn't seem like her style, but when she threw herself onto the ground, he followed suit.

He couldn't quite understand what happened next.

He heard the tell-tale signs of glass being broken just as an unbearably high, shrieking noise build up in his ear, before suddenly he heard nothing at all. Then he felt, rather than heard the wall burst above him just as he saw the open door being ripped from its hinges as if by an invisible hand. A moment later it was all over, his ears cleared and aside from the flutter of the wall raining down around them as sawdust all was silent. The woman was the first to get up; she looked carefully inside the room while Oliver was still preoccupied trying to play catch-up. He heard her curse, then saw her rushing into the room as he slowly, unsurely picked himself up from the floor. He noticed the wooden wall of the room was cracked all over, leaving rough splintered edges sticking out, littering the walls. He joined the woman at the broken window – more cracks. He could see people in the adjacent rooms looking into Deadshot's torn up place through the sudden cracks. The female vigilante was cursing ever more colorfully when his musings finally caught up with his senses.

"What happened?"

"He jumped out the window," she replied unhelpfully. Well, duh.

"That's not what I meant. What happened to the room? What was that thing?", he clarified, pulling one of the strange earpieces out of his ear. "And what are these?!"

"He must have left just as it hit. Should have given his back a good beating, probably gave him a headache too." She talked right over him, so he grabbed her roughly by the arm and was about to turn her around forcibly to answer him when both their heads snapped up at the sound of sirens. He quickly glanced around the room to find the laptop that had previously been on the desk. Whatever happened had thrown in clear across the room against one of the abused walls and dented it, leaving it fall on the floor. He picked it up, then went back to the window to place it in the woman's hands. She raised an eyebrow, but waited for him to shoot the cable across to a nearby roof. When he turned his back to her to avoid her seeing his face under the hood (he really needed a mask like hers), she quickly put her arms around his neck to piggy-back. They made their way across several rooftops before pausing to catch their breath and, if Oliver had anything to say about it, continuing their earlier discussion. Before he could open his mouth, though, she beat him to the punch with a completely unexpected question.

"Are you alright?" He snapped to attention at the question, not sure what she was asking. Was she concerned that her little gadget had hurt him? That he hadn't reacted quickly enough? "The other night," she continued at his silence, "you were grazed by a bullet. Deadshot is famous for lacing them with curare..."

"I lived," he answered evasively. He didn't exactly want to shout from the rooftops how close a call it had been.

"That's not what I asked," she said, moving closer. She kept enough distance that an attempt to glance under his hood would be pointless, but she bridged that space with her hand on his arm. This time, she didn't grip him to pull him this way or that or to gain his attention. Instead her gloved hand merely lay gently on his arm, just below where he had been hit. Her touch was so tentative he barely felt it underneath the tough leather. It felt almost like a caress, a sensation that was strengthened when she repeated her question barely above a whisper. Even on a lone rooftop where no one else could possibly hear, the quietness of her voice felt intimate. "Are you alright?"

Oliver swallowed at the unwelcome wave of vulnerability and gratitude that welled up inside him. He had no place for delicate emotions like that. Her concern was touching, but that was precisely the problem. He wasn't looking for someone who was concerned for him, someone who might attempt to save him from himself someday. That was a notion to nip in the bud in anyone, especially in the hero-type. There was no place for him to open up an be vulnerable in his life and he could tell that's where they were headed. Even after spending only such a short amount of time with her, he could feel himself reacting in a very human manner to her concern, a luxury he could not and would not allow himself. _Best pluck the_ _notion_ _from her mind_ , he figured, so he jerked away abruptly from her soothing touch – feeling instantly its loss and damn it, he wanted to kick himself for noticing – and turning away from her for good measure.

"Fine," he replied brusquely. "Still waiting for an answer, though."

There was a moment of silence as she no doubt weighted whether or not to press the issue. He exhaled a breath he had not known he was holding when she followed his lead instead.

"You remember our conversation about long-range weapons?", she asked lightly, pulling the metal globe out again.

Not much of a discussion seeing as then, too, she hadn't given him an answer. He could see it now, though. With the force of whatever-that-thing-was, even throwing it halfway between the two buildings, it could have easily disoriented the shooter. She had just chosen not cross half the roof in a hailstorm of bullets to do so.

"What is it?"

"Sonic bomb. Emits a very potent, high-frequency sonic blast."

"You have some kinks to work out," he grumbled, thinking of the way that thing had left the room.

"It wasn't supposed to demolish the place!", she defended, then added in a smaller voice. "It's still somewhat experimental..."

 _I'll say_ , he thought. Then he pulled out the other ear piece. He must have lost the first one when he went to retrieve the laptop.

"And these are earplugs?"

"Yeah, they're pretty nifty. They allow sound to come through until it reaches a certain decibel count, then they close up until the noise diminishes." She plucked it from his hand. Damn, he had wanted to analyze those.

"Where'd you get them?" Worth a shot.

"Never took you for the fishing type."

Clearly, she wasn't dignifying that with an answer. He raised his hands in surrender, smirking a little at her sass. Saving his city would be a lot more interesting – and frustrating – with her around. He motioned toward the laptop.

"Let me guess. We should take that to the police."

She looked down at it briefly.

"No, CSI takes ages to process something that's entered into it queue, even if expediting treatment is requested," she mused out loud and he wondered if she was a cop in her real life. It would make sense, he supposed. Her knowledge of CSI, her interest in building relationships with her colleagues (although dangerous because they might recognize her) and her desire to bring people to justice, i. e. court, even as she worked outside the law. He could see it now: a cop tired of being encumbered by red tape and restrictive rules, doing a little serving and protecting her way, off the clock. It could be an attractive idea to a disillusioned cop. It was something to keep in mind at least.

"- guy who could look at this," she was continuing. Then she pushed the laptop into his free hand. "But then, so do you I imagine and you were there first."

He snorted. What, were they in kindergarten?

"And here I thought you were Ms Goody-Two-Shoes," he chuckled.

"Not my name."

"Speaking of," he jumped at the mention of their last conversation. "You promised to give me yours."

"When you had one, yeah. Do you?"

"Haven't you heard? I'm the Man in the Hood."

"That's not a name, that's a description. Like The Woman in Black," she snorted at him. "The press strikes again – and you strike out, sorry."

He did not pout.

"The Hood should count."

She smiled, but didn't answer. "Tell me when you've got something."

This time it was his turn to snort.

"How? I can't exactly put a big, luminous sign in the sky, can I?!"

Her lips twitched.

"It shouldn't take longer than a couple of hours and you know exactly where I'll be tonight."

With that, she disappeared over the edge of the roof. He puzzled over her words for a minute, but couldn't quite place why she thought he knew where she would be. Then something else dawned on him. He did not actually have a guy for this.

Which is precisely how Oliver Queen found himself on the way to a Felicity Smoak in Queen Consolidated's IT department a little while later. He had gone straight to the departmental supervisor at first, but the man, who was exactly as nervous, sweaty and slightly obese as Oliver had imagined, had helpfully directed him to one of his staff who was supposedly better equipped to help him in this matter. Oliver sighed as he rounded on the office door, expecting a middle-aged or elderly mouse-like woman with glasses and no sense of humor...

Well, he was only mostly wrong.

The bespectacled lady in question was young and pretty, wearing a suit shirt that stood out only by its light pink color, was clearly capable of multitasking as she switched between her computer screen and shuffling through paper documents that probably needed integrating into some digital program or matrix, and had a look of extreme concentration on her face which was only underlined by the pen in her mouth. She had her back turned when he finally fully entered the office space and he cleared his throat to get her attention.

"Felicity Smoak?", he asked, just to be sure. She jerked a little at the sudden noise, but removed the pen she had been chewing on."Hi, I'm Oliver Queen."

She pointed the pen at him for a moment as if not quite sure whether he was real and in her office, then snapped herself out of it immediately.

"Of course. I know who you are, you're Mr Queen."

"No, Mr Queen was my father," Oliver corrected without hesitation.

"Right, but he's dead," she replied as if justifying her use of the formal address. Then she seemed to realize what she had said and tried to salvage the situation. "I mean he drowned. But you didn't which means you could come down to the IT Department," at this point she began tapping the pen against the desk; a nervous habit perhaps, "and listen to me babble... which will end in three, two, one."

The more she spoke, the more he could feel his fake smile widening into a real one. At least she was as socially awkward as he had expected, but in a much different way than he had expected. She wasn't completely removed from human contact; she knew her social cues, she just had a nervous babble. It was... endearing, he decided. He took an instant liking to her. Odd, that seemed to happen to him often lately, despite all the rampant, if healthy, mistrust of other human beings the island had instilled him with.

"I'm having some trouble with my computer and they told me that you were the person to come and see," Oliver told her in a light, amused voice, hoping to dispel any sense of apprehension that she may have. He wasn't angry at her or offended by what she had said and he wanted her to know it. He placed the dented computer on her desk. Thankfully, it hadn't been hit by any stray bullets or arrows (1), but when he'd tried to retrieve the data himself, ridiculously hoping that even a dented computer would still work, he'd soon realized that he needed help. "I was at my favorite coffee shop surfing the web and I spilled my latte on it."

"Really, because this looks like a rhinoceros trampled across it."

"I may have flung it at the ground in anger," he admitted with what he hoped was a guilty look. "If there's anything you could salvage from it, I would really appreciate it."

She nodded once, still a bit disbelieving, making a soft noise of assent and hooked the dented piece of equipment onto her work computer. Then she went through a flurry of windows that Oliver didn't understand before telling him she was pulling up the last thing he'd used. Oliver made a non-committal noise as she showed him what looked like blueprints.

"Looks like blueprints," she stated. He wasn't quite sure what the quality of her voice said about why she thought he would have been looking at such a thing.

"Do you know what of?", he asked, knowing he was blowing his cover, but needing to know.

"The exchange building," she replied, nodding.

"Never heard of it."

"It's where the Unidac Industries auction is scheduled to take place later tonight," she told him. At his quizzical look, she finally narrowed her eyes at him. As far as Felicity was concerned she had humored him long enough without asking any uncomfortable questions, son of the owner or not. It was time to do a little digging. "I thought..." She paused briefly, then decided to change course. While she kept her tone carefully neutral, the next bit was definitely not a question. "You said this was your computer."

"Yes," he replied simply, not denying the implicit accusation. He saw her jaw tighten and could guess that his answer irked her enough to put up some resistance to further assisting him.

"Look," she said with a note of impatience, because, really, he needed to get this, "I don't wanna be caught up in some kind of Shakespearean family drama thing."

"What?"

"Mr Steele marrying your mom."

 _Yes, and?_ , Oliver wondered. He didn't have a problem with that, it just took some getting used to, was all. His face must have given the question away because she started to spout a litany of names trying to explain.

"Claudius, Gertrude – Hamlet," she said by way of hint, half shocked, half amused by his apparent lack of realization. It was the Bard, after all.

"I didn't study Shakespeare at any of the four colleges I dropped out of."

 _Of course not_ , she thought, exasperated.

"Mr Steele is trying to buy Unidac Industries and now you bring me a company laptop that's associated with one of his competitors."

"Floyd Louton."

"No, Warren Patel," she corrected him, pointing at the top of the screen where the name was written out in all capital letters. "Who's Floyd Louton?" She wondered if there had been a fight and if that was how Oliver Queen had sto- acquired the laptop.

"Evidently one of Mr Patel's employees." He could practically cut the tension emanating from Ms Smoak at this point, but he paid it no more mind for the moment. Instead he studied the blueprints of the Exchange Building. It was surrounded by three towers, all of which optimal locations from which to get a kill shot on an unsuspecting guest, especially since the building designs indicated that most of the walls were actually windows. There was no way he could protect that many people in that accessible a location. He would have to pay Detective Lance a visit, but at least now he had an idea of where the Woman in Black might be tonight. He had studied similar building plans for Holder's penthouse suite, where the man had admitted to a drug shipment coming in tonight of all nights at the docks, pier 52, 7:30pm. That was also when the auction would begin. The woman would be at the docks earlier than that and he needed to find her in time to make it to the auction. Strangely enough, the thought to just not go collect her never crossed his mind...

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Ted's Gym)_

The gym was closed this late afternoon, but there were still two members making use of the ring for a fast-paced and brutal sparring match. In fact, their sparring match was precisely why the gym was closed as they were preparing one of them for a fight later tonight. Ted and Laurel pulled no punches in their training exercises, knowing it could get her killed if she didn't know her limits or if her she got into the habit of holding back herself. They were the only two people in the building and other than the sounds of their ragged breaths or the smacking of a well-placed hit, everything was silent. The space in the ring was limited and would hopefully not reflect the actual space at Laurel's disposal in the upcoming fight, but the docks were always packed with containers everywhere and it couldn't hurt to know how to fight in enclosed spaces.

A quick combination of punches was followed by a long, muscular leg performing a wide arch in an attempt to catch him in the face, but Ted danced around the attack with all the grace of an experienced boxer. He threw his own punch, catching Laurel in the side. When she staggered, he followed it up with a swift kick to her gut. Laurel crumpled only for a moment, then a leg shot out and he had to jump back or let her break his ankle. In a flash she was on her feet again. He blocked another punch, his left to her right, but this time she hooked an arm under his and rotates herself until she can roll herself across his back. Arms tightly hooked together, she used her body weight and momentum to drag him around with her, unbalancing him and finally throwing him into the ropes. He gets up again, but Laurel is there to grab his head and bring it toward her knee. He was just in time to block it with both his hands, avoiding the worst of the damage, although even the slowed impact still gave him quite the headache. As soon as her knee returned to the ground, he tackled her.

They both fall onto the mats and he climbed on top of her, securing her arms above her head. He knew she could get out of this and, indeed, not a second later he felt her positioning both her feet right behind him, then she leveraged him off her by raising her lower body and jerking it to the side. He lost both his balance and his grip on her arms, one of which she brought down elbow first onto his stomach. Rather than pin him in a ground fight, she rolled away to straighten up once more. Ted quickly got up himself, knowing that otherwise she would kick him while he was down. It was one of his rules. If you were going out to fight numerous others alone, there was no place for chivalry in your fighting style. As soon as he was up, he had to back away as she kept coming at him with various attacks, punches and kicks. He evaded another one of her punches, stepping out behind her and gave her another to quick jabs to the side, then brought his arm around to choke her. Gathering his intention, she pressed her chin into the crease of his elbow before he could tighten his grip, securing her air supply because he couldn't press down on her wind pipe that way. Next thing he felt her smash her right elbow into his ribs twice and, when his grip loosened in pain, once more against his temple.

As he staggered back, she twirled in the air, her foot catching him on the same side of the head. Then he felt two hands grab his shoulders and pulling his upper body downward before her knee caused an uncomfortably crunchy, squishy noise as it made contact with the end of his breast bone and the beginning of his soft tissue. He heard himself yell in pain distractedly, almost didn't recognize the sound so dazed was he. He fell to the ground and indulged himself a moment by curling around his aching belly. He felt more than heard the plop as she fell down beside him, turned to see her rubbing her ribs where he had gotten her several time at her side. They were both breathing heavily as they righted themselves to look at one another. They had been training together so long, yet they still managed to surprise one another with new moves. He had given Laurel a key to the gym early on in their acquaintance and he knew that she used it practically every day even when he wasn't around.

She trained with some of the other regulars, picking up different fighting styles like a sponge from them. Along with people who just wanted to work out, or learn how to box, men and women with knowledge in almost all martial arts known to man frequented his gym and Laurel had moved between them and with them since day one. They hadn't thought much of the professionally dressed woman that first entered his gym. At least not in terms of a fighter, but they knew she an a free legal aid office in the Glades that benefited the community, so they were willing to help her out if she were willing to learn. And boy, had she been willing! Soon the running joke was that the gym should belong to her as she spent more time there than anyone, including Ted himself. He'd had to recently give up his vigilante existence due to extensive injury, so while he had kept the place opened for others, he had vastly avoided spending any more time there than necessary, but once he'd heard about the young lawyer's almost obsessive use of his facility, he'd made it a point to hang around. He'd watched her work her way through different styles, adapting for herself what she found useful and making it her own. She didn't use one single martial art, instead she just picked and chose what suited her, what she liked and what made sense given her height and weight and muscle strength. He realized soon that the latter was a bit of an issue, because she didn't train her muscles separately to strengthen them, but only ever as she went through the various motions of the attacks. He pointed that out to her and, though clearly suspicious of the man she'd seen the least of in her entire time there, she'd let him train her. They'd improved her muscle strength over the course of the next couple of months as slowly the female vigilante started to make her first appearances. He investigated her, of course. Ted couldn't help being curious, but he didn't realize that the masked woman and his protégé were the same until...

"Did you have to hit so hard," she complained, still rubbing her side.

"We agreed-"

"I disagree now, retroactively."

"And besides, what am I supposed to say," he snorted. "You whacked my head around pretty good. I'm surprised it's still attached."

"I thought we'd agreed," she said innocently. Typical... "I need the exercise."

"For the Hood, yes. I still wish you wouldn't-" He cut himself off, sighing.

"Ted, we spoke about this. He agreed to hold himself in check when I'm around-"

"Yeah, big concession. A killer holding himself back for a pretty face is not actually less of a killer!", he grumbled, frustrated, then his head snapped up of its own accord when he realized what he'd said. What he'd implied. "Sorry."

"Noted," she grunted. "Point is, if he can even make that offer, then maybe he can do more. It could be an in for me. To help him."

"You realize you're suggesting to ruthlessly manipulate the poor bastard."

"Now he's a poor bastard, a second ago he was a killer."

"He can be both at the same time, but us guys have to stick together where beautiful, blond, black-leather clad sirens like you are concerned... Seriously, though, it's a dangerous game you're playing. If he realizes what you're up to... he might not appreciate your efforts to save him."

 _You can say that again_ , she mused to herself as she thought back to the moment on the roof when he had eschewed her concern. He had practically been physically repulsed, but it had come only after a moment, suggesting a reflected response rather than natural distaste. He had treated her concern with disdain on purpose, which she thought might mean he actually did want help even if he didn't want to admit it. In any case, he needed someone and not just to stop him killing. Sure, he was angry and vengeful and he had a very biblical understanding of crime and punishment, but he also looked lost almost. Like he couldn't quite orient himself in the city.

"I have to try," she finally said, knowing full well that she was being extremely arrogant by thinking that he needed or wanted her help. "He deserves at least that."

Ted made an undignified noise, but before he could comment, they both heard the door swing open. Looking round to the entrance, they saw her father approach. He was alone, so this was not police business, not that he'd ever willingly bring Detective Hilton here. He reached the ring and climbed between the ropes to join the two of them. Standing over them, he let his scrutinizing gaze slide over one then the other, before finally reaching in his pocket and extending something toward her in his hand. It was the other earplug she had given the hooded vigilante.

"You are so lucky I was at the scene before anyone else, or this would have gone into evidence;" he chided her. "Listen to me, I'm stealing evidence."

Laurel got up.

"You're protecting your daughter. You and mom always did."

He gave her a clearly false grin in return for her cheery, bright one.

"Oh, yeah, aren't we the model parents?! Letting our precious girl run head-first into danger every night. Look what happened to the other one."

"Dad..."

"Every other night," Ted commented. The patrol wasn't completely regular. He made sure that Laurel still had a life (despite her choosing to spend it working). Social isolation was suspicious and moreover dangerous. One could lose sight of what was important, of why one started to do this in the first place. Not to mention that with nothing to live for, well, people tended to get reckless thinking they had nothing to lose.

"Dad," Laurel tried again.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. The city needs you. I know that. I agree with that. Doesn't mean I have to like it."

Laurel smiled for real this time. They shared a hug.

"I'm proud of you."

Laurel pulled back. "I gotta go. Got an appointment at the docks." When her father nodded in return, she disappeared into Ted's office and from there into their lair. Ted waited a moment until he was sure she was gone.

"Not to detract from a father-daughter moment, but was the earplug the only reason you came, detective?" Ted found that unlikely. He could have given it back to Laurel any time.

"No, I got a little visit from the other vigilante. Apparently Deadshot is going to hit the Unidac Industries auction as we suspected."

"It's still happening at the Exchange Building?", the former pugilist asked.

Too late to change it now. The Exchange is not the most secure building, which is why he came to me in the first place. He can't survey the entire thing."

"And you didn't tell Laurel that, because..."

"For the same reasons why you won't: I'd rather she face a bunch of drug dealers than an internationally renowned assassin and a vigilante on a killing spree. And I want her as far away from where those two lunatics will be having it out as possible."

"And you want to try and arrest the hooded vigilante without risking Laurel's discovery."

Quentin didn't deny it, but Ted could get on board with the other two reasons anyway, so he let it go. Laurel would be furious with them once she found out, but it was better to beg for forgiveness than to ask for permission. Or, in this case, tell the truth and let her get in the middle of two assassins' turf war, which this would no doubt end up as.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Pier 52, 7:02pm)_

There was already some activity at the pier when she got there. Clearly the ship had made good time in its journey across, because she could see them begin to unload when she arrived shortly after seven. She laid herself flat on a container, technically too close for comfort, to make sure they didn't spot her and watched silently as the men passed small boxes of varying shape from hand to hand before loading them onto a truck. Pulling out a small pair of binoculars, because in the low light even this close the writing was hard to read, she read the inscription on a couple of them boxes. They alerted the handler of supposedly fragile content. Laurel's eyes narrowed; it seemed the Triads were smuggling drugs with Chinese... well, china. Antiquities perhaps, allowing them to exploit their countries national treasures as well as bringing dangerous substances into Starling City.

Around the men, strategically placed guards with half-hidden guns looked out in every direction, which was why she had specifically chosen a dark container surrounded by more of the same stocked highly around her. It would spell trouble if she were to be spotted, with the only two ways she could go being forward toward them and back the way she came, but it offered her the right amount of shade to blend in even with her bright wig. She counted the guards just under a dozen, but it was possible the workers would join in if there were a fight and not in her favor. She also knew there were some others patrolling a wider perimeter. She hadn't dared take them out before, preferring to sneak around them to her secluded hiding spot, for fear of alerting them to her presence if their unconscious forms were found before she was done.

She knew she couldn't take them alone, so either her on-and-off partner turned up, trying to communicate whatever he'd found on the computer and she could somehow rope him into helping her, or... Her hand went back to the small pouch strapped to her tight, quietly pulling out what she had come here for in the first place. As she pulled it up to her eyes, she smiled down at the small, sleek black camera she had brought for this particular mission. In the right hands, a picture really did say more than a thousand honeyed lies any defense attorney could come up with. She'd drop one set of copies off with her father to make sure the right officers would investigate this. In the meantime, she planned for attorney Laurel Lance or Joanna to surprisingly find another set of copies on their desks. Her smile got wider, pleased with having found an alternative when she couldn't physically put a stop to the event herself. There was more than one way to fight crime. She photographed the merchandise first, so the packages could be recognized if possible. Then she took pictures of every guard and every man carrying a crate from the ship to the truck. She also included pictures of the ship and a detail of its name. She noticed that fewer men were going into the ship, while two were readying the truck. Despite their strength in numbers she had no intention of letting all that dope get onto the market. The truck wouldn't travel with much of an escort as that would be too suspicious. Her best chance to stop it would be on the road. As she began to move away to return to her bike, she realized someone was approaching her. The footsteps were soft, but determined, like a lion stalking a gazelle.

"Hi, Green. You found me then." It wasn't a question and he didn't answer as he crouched down beside her to survey the scene.

"Is there a plan here? Because taking them all on by yourself would be foolish."

"Several," she answered dryly, slowly waving the camera in front of his nose before returning it to the pouch. "The truck won't be so heavily guarded on the move. It'll be easier pickings. I was just on my way if you'd like to join the party."

"Another time. For both of us," he told her firmly and that got her attention. Not only didn't he want to help her out, no, apparently he intended to drag her completely off the the case for now. Apparently they both counted on each other as resources. _When did that happen_ , she wondered as she considered him. His hood covered most of his profile, but she could see the determined line of his jaw. He turned slightly toward her as well, though his eyes and upper face remained shadowed and the dark did the rest to cover his identity. "Deadshot is planning to attack at the Unidac Industries auction, which is set to start in a few minutes. The building is less than secure with wide open areas and window walls leaving the attendees wide open to attack."

"Easy pickings for someone with Deadshot's skill."

"Exactly. I can't cover the entire area by myself and since I don't know who the target is, I can't protect them." He gritted his teeth and his voice had gotten an edge she'd heard before. It was the same frustrated tone he'd used during their first confrontation with Somers, back when she'd knocked his arrow down to stand in his way. Now it was even more intense as he was admitting that he needed help. Oh, he may not have said it, but she could hear the 'alone' that would have been at the end of that last sentence loud and clear. She had guessed that he was pretty self-reliant... and authoritarian, stubborn and with a 'my-way-is-best' attitude from the beginning. This was more than wounded male pride, though. The situation asked more of him, asked him to trust her. She didn't think trust came easy to him. She moved her hand to his arm as she had done that afternoon and this time he didn't jerk back even after she'd left it there for a moment without speaking. She could tell that he was focused on her and her hand, though, as she felt him go tense. The tension didn't ebb away at all during the protracted silence, but at least he wasn't turning tail and running. She counted that as a win. His trust, even if born out of necessity, was another brick in the basis that may allow her an in to help him. She would start by helping him with the auction, though that left the drugs that still needed to be taken care of. She opened her mouth to reassure him she'd come with him when a sweet sneer made her blood turn to ice in her veins.

"I'm not interrupting I hope," China White's deceivingly soft, polite voice drifted over them. For a split-second, Laurel could feel the panic rising in her throat. How had she not noticed China White's arrival?! How had neither of them noticed?! They had been so wrapped up in their own problems that they hadn't paid attention to their surroundings at all. Damn it, what a rookie mistake! At a glance, Laurel counted two other armed guards along with the woman; there had been six on perimeter duty. She could only guess that the other four had an arrow sticking out of them somewhere. Right now, with her heart beating in her throat, she couldn't say she minded. Then she shook herself mentally to get back in the game. Exchanging a look with the Man in the Hood, they both turned onto their backs and rolled themselves backward over the edge of the container to get back on their feet as there was no way White would allow them to get up. The Hood cocked and fired an arrow on his way down. Though fired aimlessly he managed to graze one of the guys' arms.

They hit the ground running, making their way toward the other guards on the ground to get out of their firing range and hopefully dissuade the two men with White from shooting at them for fear of hitting their comrades. It was a good thing that they had managed to get so close earlier, because in five steps Laurel was on the first guy, knocking the gun he was extending toward it out of his hand. She gripped his wrist in the same motion and slammed her fist into the side of his ribs. Grateful for the lack of a Kevlar vest, she listened to the satisfying crunch of his bones and the subsequent yelp of pain. Shifting her grip to the back of his hand in the window of opportunity provided by his disorientation, she brought her elbow around to connect with his nasal bone. Letting him drop to the floor, she turned to the other two men coming at her now. The guns were left at their sides because they were too close to shoot without risking to injure each other. Quickly reassembling her staff, she smacked it first across one man's face. While ducking under the other, she used it to swing his leg out from under him. As she came up from her crouch, she slammed the end of it into the first man's gut, quickly followed by her foot coming in to contact with his knee as he crouched. As with Holder, the Chinese's knee gave under the pressure to bend in the wrong direction. This time she didn't listen to the scream, barely heard it in fact, because suddenly she was consumed by the slice of a knife and the eruption of pain in her arm that followed. She could feel it radiated up across her shoulder and down into her hand and almost dropped the staff. Only years of obligatory self-defense classes drilling into her the importance of not being empty-handed if it could be helped at all made her hold on to the only weapon to defend herself with.

China White took another swing at her; the other men had backed off concentrating their attacks on the guy in the hood instead. In her periphery, she could see him fighting too. His movements were fluid and graceful, but with the additional two attackers he immediately took a couple of painful looking hits. She winced, feeling for him. He bounced back insanely quickly, though, adapting to the additional attackers without much difficulty it seemed. He used his bow to block several knives, danced around to one man's back and reach his arm backwards across his throat. Bending forward only slightly, he made the attacker make an unexpected flip, In his surprise, the Triad assassin didn't manage to deflect the deft kick to the gut that awaited him as soon as he faced the hooded vigilante again. Another block to his right, and a quick, powerful jab at the attackers face dislocated a jaw, but the Man in the Hood wasn't done yet. He forcibly bend the elbow of the still extended knife arm behind the attacker's back, removed the knife and stuck it in the man's hand. Even his muffled scream was cut short by a hit to the back of the head. As the next one came at him, the hooded vigilante pulled an arrow out of his quiver. Because the attacker was too close for a shot, he instead rammed into the triad member's shoulder, then twisted it for good measure. Holding onto him, he broke the man's shin with a decisive stomp against it. The next two, undecided as they had been between attacking and backing away, got an arrow each for their trouble. True to his word, though, neither was a lethal shot, hitting their legs instead.

Laurel, shaking her head free, quickly, but clumsily backed out of the other woman's range at her swing. She needed to regain her footing; yesterday. Gritting her teeth, she brought her staff up at the next swing to block the blade, then turned on her heel and aimed a jab at White's face. The Chinese woman ducked under it, then did so again when Laurel turned once more for another jab. Performing a tight, almost circular motion, Laurel instead brought the staff down on her from above. China White reacted exactly as Laurel had suspected she would by blocking the attack with both her knives. Though this too failed, Laurel had succeeded to rearrange her grip on her staff, so she was much closer than the Triad enforcer had anticipated. With both her hands up in the air to block the staff, Laurel was free to duck under her arms and head butt her in the nose. The vigilante felt the wet smear of the other woman's blood mark her forehead even as the assassin stumbled back. Before she could get very far, Laurel made a tight turn within the circle of her arms loosing the middle piece of her staff for more maneuverability. She used one of her new short sticks to smack the knife out of China White's left hand, then slammed her elbow back into the woman's face to keep her dazed.

Out of the corner of her eyes, Laurel could see the other man closing in on her again, now that their leader was in trouble, but she couldn't concentrate on that yet. First, she grabbed onto the arm with the remaining knife to secure it. Her other hand found its way to the back of the other woman's neck, pulling her down into the repeated knee strikes aimed at her gut and chest. She heard a commotion behind her and several thumps as someone or several someones hit the ground. Before she finally let White tumble to the ground as well, she gave her one last crescent kick for good measure. She turned to discover the commotion had been caused by the hooded vigilante throwing one of his opponents into the path of the two men who were approaching her. When her eyes sought him out he was holding the arm of one man in an uncomfortable twist, while kicking back another. Then he returned his attention to the guy he was holding and slammed the side of his hand down just above the elbow. Another broken joint this night. He let go of the man afterward, knowing he would be too busy cradling his arm in agony to attack again. The three men were getting back up, so Laurel backed her way toward her partner.

Without any need for direct communication her back came up against his as the remaining Triad men surrounded them in a tight circle. Then everybody moved at once and Oliver lost contact with is partner again. What blond motion he could see out of the corner of his eye was blurred by his inability to concentrate on it as he fended off more Triad assassins. They were about evenly matched, he thought as he ducked under another knife, but he really needed a better short range weapon. The bow was dangerous to block with and not particularly effective as a weapon of attack other than by projectile because there was always a risk of the string being compromised. They shifted again during their fight and he spotted part of her staff on the ground not far from him now. He rolled under the next attack to grab it on the go, blocking another jab in one fluid motion before hitting his attacker hard on the forehead. There were only a few of them left, but he could see China White stir again and this was taking to long.

"Can't you use your gadget thing from the hotel?!", he called to her without knowing exactly where she was. He chose his words carefully to avoid giving the Triad a clue, but they really could use a quick, yet lasting solution. He didn't have earplugs anymore, but he'd take that chance if it meant getting out of here and back to the Exchange building.

"Not without making your ears bleed! The kinks, you know!"

Right. He didn't have her fancy earplugs anymore. Just his luck.

"Tell me you called the police. Because _we_ are gonna be late," she shouted over the noise of the battle.

"Of course I called them," he yelled back indignantly.

Suddenly, sirens could be heard faintly in the distance, but getting closer.

"Good, cause so did I," she replied with an infectious smile as the triads scattered.

At the sound of the police, the Chinese began to scatter and, to be honest, that was his first instinct too. Before he could take more than a few paces, she had her hand on his arm again – and, really, that needed to stop, her touching him so freely! She motioned her head in the direction of the truck toward which the Triad members were scampering. Then she looked pointedly at his quiver.

"You got something for that?"

He glanced quickly between her and the truck. He supposed he might as well invest the extra second given that it had cost him pain and bruises and, hopefully not, broken bones. He cocked an arrow just as the truck was gaining speed directed toward the street. Right after he fired, he snaked his arm around the woman's waste to pull her to the ground with him. Not a moment to soon as the arrow exploded, denting the metal cover of the truck and breaking its axis, so that the compartment scraped across the floor. The wheels were shot to hell as well, causing the driver to lose control and bring the truck down onto its side.

"I was referring to shooting their wheels with regular arrows, but this will do," the petite woman commented dryly from beside him. He smirked as he offered her the last part of her staff; she still sounded just a little bit impressed.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

When they arrived at the exchange building, it was in total chaos. Screams could be heard from a block away already, some of the glass walls were shattered and masses of people were running for cover while trying not to stumble over the bodies scattered across the floor. They could see the police trying to direct all remaining investors and guests to safety. Oliver gritted his teeth, clearly they had come too late to prevent the disaster. Shots were still ringing out, though, and the woman with him identified a high window in the tower building to their left as the origin point of the attack. Without a word being spoken, both vigilantes rushed toward the door of the building. Oliver reached it first, pushing it open with such force that it banged against the wall. He cringed internally, hoping that Deadshot had not noticed due to his continued preoccupation with the building opposite.

They hastened up several flights of stairs with the Woman in Black hot on his heels. He knew he shouldn't be, but he was somewhat surprised at her endurance, particularly as she had taken a bit of a beating at the hands of China White only a little while earlier. Granted, he had endured a few blows by her henchmen as well, but none of them had sliced through his uniform into his flesh as White had done with the woman's arm. He could still see small trickles of blood gush from the wound, but the woman was paying them no mind and he didn't much have the time to either. They had reached the floor just below the one where the shooting was coming from and slowed their pace to avoid detection. It would also allow them to catch their breaths a little before engaging the assassin. They moved furtively up the last couple of stairs and across to the door. Oliver silently cocked an arrow and the female vigilante grasped two of the pieces of her staff. He could feel her looking at him, waiting for his signal. He nodded at her just before he kicked the door inward. Taking aim only took a split-second, then he released the arrow while the assassin was still turning around. Unfortunately, Deadshot had had the good instinct to turn and duck in one fluid motion, thus rolling beneath the trajectory of his arrow and opening fire as soon as he could see them again.

The two vigilantes moved as one; Oliver ducked behind a column and the woman mirrored his movement so they ended up pressed together against the concrete. The fake hair of her platinum blond wig scraped against his chin. He was close enough to breathe in the scent of leather and something else he couldn't quite pinpoint. He had known she was smaller than him, but pressed together like this he realized just how petite she was. His free hand had automatically gone to her waist, his arm half encircling her to keep her close and therefore safe from stray bullets. He gently bit his own tongue to prevent any further unnecessary analysis of either the woman or their predicament beyond comprehensive battle strategy. There was a brief cessation of fire when the device on the assassin's arm ran out of bullets and he took that opportunity to step away from his distracting partner to fire another two arrows that Deadshot unfortunately evaded. He also saw a short metal baton fly with admirable accuracy toward Louton's head, which he had to bat away with his hand, hissing slightly at the light pain of contact and giving Oliver time to take cover again. He didn't hear her move once, but when he returned behind the column again, the woman was gone.

"No idea who your chick is, but I've heard about you," Deadshot's voice came to his ears. "I take it you won't be extending me any professional courtesy."

"We are not the same," Oliver retorted with emphasis, because he wanted to set the record straight. "You're a murderer."

"You've killed," the assassin shot back and Oliver cringed, knowing the accusation to be true.

"In the service of others," he insisted then, partially because he needed to explain himself, needed Deadshot and the Woman in Black who was presumably listening to understand the key difference. He did not kill because he found enjoyment in the act of killing or for someone else's money and he did not kill his targets unless they left him with no choice or refused to make right what they had done. He was nothing like Deadshot, who made a living on the pain and death of others. Mostly though, he wanted to keep the conversation going. "You only serve yourself."

Wherever the woman had disappeared to, he did not believe for a second that she had left him to take care of this himself. Throwing the baton had been to convince Louton that she was behind the column with him the entire time, while she was pursuing other plans. He just wished she'd communicated her intentions to him somehow. He could take on the assassin alone now, but he was sure that she had a strategy, so if he could just keep Deadshot busy...

"A pity you see it that way, but if we can't part amicably..." The threat was left hanging in the air, but Oliver could feel the tension rise as he expected the next round of gunfire. His ears perked up, straining to hear, thinking for some reason that this would be when she would make her move – and there it was, the sound of metal against flesh and Deadshot's yelp of pain. "Bitch!

At the assassin's anger, Oliver rounded on him to deliver the final blow, but the Woman in Black was in his line of fire. From wherever she had attacked, she was now between him and Louton and, with an angry sneer, he couldn't help but wonder if that was on purpose. The hand with the firing mechanism strapped to it came up to shoot her. She blocked it just in time, knocking the arm sideways away from herself, then her elbow came up against his temple. Before she could follow up with another attack, Louton head-butted her. As she stumbled back ward, he grabbed her arm to pull her in, twisting it behind her back. Oliver heard her wheeze at the pain and subconsciously pulled the string of his bow a little further back. He dared not fire, though. Deadshot had her pulled flush against him, keeping hold with one arm across her chest and his contraption aimed at her head. He hid his head in her wig and against her cheek, making any attempt at taking him out dangerous even for an archer as experienced as Oliver was. The vigilante cursed mentally. He glanced at the woman between them. There was fear in her eyes now, that was for sure, but he also thought he detected a sense of defiance. The impulse to act.

"What the hell?", came a new voice from behind him. The eyes of the assassin and his hostage fixated on the new arrival, but Oliver knew who it was even without looking. Besides, there was no way he would take his eyes away from Louton so long as he had a hostage. He could hear Diggle's quick movement as he assessed the situation, reflexively pointing his gun at him and Deadshot in turn. Finally, it came to rest on the man holding the hostage and Diggle moved to Oliver's side almost naturally, a short tactical distance apart to cover more ground and close one possible line of escape. But Oliver doubted that even Diggle trusted his his aim enough to risk taking the shot. They were at a standoff and one of them would have to do something soon.

"Well don't just look, make yourselves useful," the Woman in Black told them exasperated.

"Shut up, bitch!"

"Look, lady, I don't think-" Diggle never got to finish that sentence, because she had already moved on to the next bit of conversation.

"Bird," she corrected the assassin, but she was looking at Oliver. He cocked an eyebrow wondering what she was trying to tell him.

"What?", Deadshot asked, confused, and that was their moment. Oliver could almost feel his grip loosening imperceptibly, could see the woman tense every muscle in her body for a quick escape, just as she grabbed onto the hand holding her. Before Deadshot could regain his composure, she twisted out of the way, both sideways to avoid Oliver's line of fire and downward to where she ended up kneeling slightly behind the assassin. Realizing he was becoming open to attack, Deadshot didn't waste his time with the unarmed woman, but rather moved to shoot at the men in front of him. Taking his hand with her screwed his aim enough that Oliver could fire without worry. He literally hit bullseye, his arrow embedding itself into Louton's artificially enhanced eye. In his already unbalanced state, the man was thrown backward by the impact as he fell over dead. The female vigilante leaned backward on her haunches and heaved a sigh of relief, though her eyes never left the dead assassin. Even knowing that she would have been a sitting duck in her position if Deadshot had been granted another attempt, she felt conflicted about his death. In fact, she hadn't moved from her position, until the other vigilante came to her side to offer her his hand. Grateful for the support, she took it and let him pull her up.

An unidentifiable noise from behind them drew both vigilantes' attention. A few feet away Diggle was lying on the ground with a bright red blood stain flowering on his crisp white shirt. The two outlaws ran over to crouch beside him. The Woman in Black tried to call him to see if he was responsive, but all she got in return were more grunts. Meanwhile Oliver had taken off his quiver and removed the arrows to get to the little extra packet he had stuffed in there tonight for just such an emergency – granted, he'd thought it would be either him or his temporary partner who would need them, but he was glad he'd packed Yao Fei's miracle herbs. He'd also stashed away a small bottle of water to help them go down.

"What are you doing? We need to get him to a hospital!"

"Help me make him swallow these," he said by way of answer, but proceeded without waiting for her reaction, forcing the herbs down Diggle's throat with some water. At the woman's continued look, he finally decided to explain. "They will counteract the poison. It's how I survived. He just needs rest now. Well, as soon as I remove the bullet."

"You're sure?", she asked, wondering if he was in the medical profession. Or maybe he worked for a pharmaceutical company. She'd learned to remove a bullet, so that wasn't much of a lead, but how else would he have gotten enough knowledge to treat curare poisoning with a few dead leaves?!

"We need to get out of here. Now that the shooting has stopped and the people in the Exchange Building are apparently safe, it won't take long for the police to swarm this place." Without another word, he proceeded to pick Diggle up and haul him toward the door to the stairways.

"There is another set of emergency stairs on the side of the building facing the other street. I noticed it earlier while I was..." Sneaking around. "The police will come up the same way we did. If you go down those stairs now, you'll walk straight into their handcuffs."

A wicked smile. A hand motioning him to follow.

Oliver grunted and moved toward her. When he reached her she took Diggle's other arm and moved it around her shoulder. He hung slanted between the two of them as they made their way toward the fire escape. For a moment, they worked in almost comfortable silence, apart from Diggle's occasional wordless complaint. Every time he emitted a groan, the woman would turn her head to his face first to see if he'd regained consciousness, then inspect the wound. Oliver was applying as much pressure on it as he could while keeping them moving. His thoughts turned to to the strange three-way conversation they'd shared with Deadshot earlier and then further back to her refusal to share her chosen moniker with him.

"You called yourself a bird," he observed. He didn't think women generally appreciated being called that anymore than being called a bitch, but there was something about the way she'd said it. Like it was a clue. Or a secret.

"So I did."

"Blackbird."

She cocked an eyebrow at him. Then a thought hit him. She was Starling City's protector, so it would be fitting.

"Starling."

"Do you really think me that corny."

"Mockingjay," was the next one he tried. Thea had mentioned something about a book series that had popularized some fictional hybrid bird. (2)

"Are you actually trying to guess?"

"Will you tell me if I guess right?"

"Hmm, maybe. If you make it before we reach the bottom of the fire escape," she teased him lightly as they continued to make their way down, mindful of Diggle's injured state. "Or, you could just find your own."

"I have one," he insisted.

"The Hood isn't your name, it's the press's."

"It's mind if I make it mine," he argued back.

"Because they compare you to Robin Hood?", she asked, her tone turning from light to something else. Maybe sad. Why would she be sad? "Has it occurred to you that it may also be a reference the hood of the executioner..."

A terse silence accompanied them for the rest of the stairs. Like Deadshot, she couldn't see it. Couldn't see the difference, small perhaps but so significant. He was not a cold-blooded killer, but he did what was necessary when he had no other choice. To defend his city. Part of him wished she could see that, wand to explain it, but if she hadn't understood him earlier, whatever he said now would make no difference. As if picking up on his thoughts, her hand returned to his shoulder for what felt like the millionth time in the last few days.

"I'm not saying you're the same as Deadshot," she clarified. "I'm saying your methods are too close for comfort. You may think that's splitting hairs..." She said this before he could open his mouth to protest her assessment. "But doesn't it bother you that he could so easily make a connection?!"

The question felt like a blow to the gut, because it reiterated the same feeling that had made him cringe at Louton's accusation of camaraderie. For a moment he could only stare at her, unsettled by the ease with which she seemed to read his soul and the unrest this and other points she'd made had evoked in him on more than one occasion now. He felt himself shudder just slightly as he felt the squeeze of her hand on his arm, before she finally let go. He didn't reply verbally, merely grabbed onto Diggle more tightly and made his way to his motorcycle. Diggle needed a place to lie down and Oliver was finally ready to act on the plan that had been forming in his mind ever since he talked to Thea and Laurel about opening up to someone, about not being on an island anymore. He was already several feel away when her voice called him back.

"It's going to be the Hood, then?"

He did not answer or move. He just waited silently for her to continue. She did, with just two words that in that moment seared themselves into his mind.

"Black Canary."

 **End of chapter 2!**

 **A/N** : So, our heroes are on a first name basis now – sort of... Sorry for the delay. I'm working on my thesis and that must come first, so this fanfic will be updated more sporadically than I usually would

 **(1)** I loved that scene as much as anyone, but the writers made Oliver look like a completely incompetent liar when he'd successfully lied to his family and friends since his return. Since I didn't know how to explain bullet holes any better either, I miraculously spared the laptop that fate, only to trash it with the sonic bomb. Same result for the Oliver-Felicity interaction and slightly (only slightly) more credible.

 **(2)** I do not own The Hunger Games series.


	3. Chapter 3

**Guardian Angels**

 **Summary:** AU/ After five years in hell, Oliver Queen has returned home with only one goal – to save his city. Unfortunately, nobody told him he'd have to wait in line...

 **WinterRain36:** I have considered a few options for the big reveal, including that one actually. It would certainly be something new and I think I know how I would pull it off too, but I haven't quite decided yet. There's another episode with an alternative scenario that quite intrigues me too (and I know I'm being deliberately vague, but I don't wanna ruin the surprise, whichever one I decide on). It won't be for another couple of chapters/episodes yet, though. For now, I hope you enjoy watching them trying to puzzle each other out.

 **PixieVendetta:** Thank you! I'm glad you like it! I haven't decided on how I want to roll with the meta-humans yet. Getting Laurel to Central City for the particle accelerator explosion would pose a problem. On the other hand, I always found the sonic collar a bit... dissatisfying. Maybe you have a suggestion?

 **GioT:** Sara has a connection to Laurel, but it'll be a little different than in the series. There are still a few chapters to write before the reveal of their relationship, though. I have dropped a few hints and probably will drop a few more here and there before then, but what do you think?

 **Chapter 3: A Few Good Men**

Oliver discovered just how badly Diggle had taken to the revelation of the Hood's identity the next morning when he came down into the living room to find a broad-shouldered young white man standing next to his mother, looking out of place where Diggle should have been. Oliver bit his tongue, angry at himself for having potentially misjudged his bodyguard, though he took some comfort in the fact that it wasn't Detective Lance waiting for him this morning. Unless the man in the black suit was an FBI agent. Oliver looked him over and, what with the amicable grin on the man's face, decided it was unlikely. He thanked God for small favors; perhaps he could convince Diggle after all. Despite the surprise and horror on Diggle's face at realizing who had brought him to the Hood's hideout, who Oliver was, the lack of police suggested that his former bodyguard may just need some time to adjust to the new reality before finally accepting it. His initial rejection might yet be overcome. An initial reaction that had included a few wild swings at him as Oliver remembered. He had easily side-stepped them. Particularly in his weakened state the veteran was no match for him and they both knew it, but Diggle had needed to let off some steam to release the anger that had burned him at the revelation. He had eventually quietened down enough to talk to him, even if Oliver still winced at how that had gone. His mind flashed back to the brief, but intense conversation he'd had with the man earlier that night.

 _A fellow soldier_ , Oliver had called him, but it had been the wrong thing to say because clearly Diggle had taken offense to the equation.

"You're not a soldier, Oliver, you're a murderer. An executioner who answers to no one, stands for nothing." Diggle's reply had struck him, struck too close for comfort as it echoed a comment Black Canary had made regarding the name the press had chosen for him. The hood of an executioner; it was fitting in a sense. He did kill when he was forced to, but unlike Deadshot he was not without mercy or without principles and that was why the accusation stung him so much. It stung even more than Diggle's accusation of having lost his mind on the island, but Oliver meant what he had said. His city was dying, poisoned by a criminal elite who didn't cared who they hurt and the police had proven themselves powerless to stop them. So Oliver had taken it upon himself to be the one to stand in their way; a promise a boy had made to his father would be fulfilled by the man he had become. As Diggle had pointed out, he couldn't hope to achieve it all on his own. He had no delusions about the reach of his methods or his abilities. There would come a day when he needed someone in his corner and while the Canary had proven herself to be a reliable partner in battle, her idealism disqualified her from truly becoming his partner. Diggle was supposed to fill that position. His military background made him the perfect candidate and he was already an integral part of Oliver's life, which would dissuade suspicion on why they spent so much time working together.

After last night, Oliver had thought that he may not only remain alone, but also have to give up his civilian identity and return to rough living in order to avoid arrest, but since Diggle hadn't alerted the cops to the Hood's identity, he would instead concentrate on finding his partner in spe and continue the negotiations. First, though, Oliver turned his attention to what was undoubtedly the man's replacement, asking his mother to introduce them. The dry tone with which she delivered the news of Diggle's resignation revealed her lack of surprise. She had clearly taken Diggle as a man of his word when he threatened to leave next time Oliver ditched him. Oliver decided not to point out that he had actually left because this time Oliver had done the exact opposite.

"Something about him disapproving of how you spend your evenings," his mother was saying. "Not surprising given that they always begin with you ditching him."

At this, she threw him a disapproving glance, which made Oliver want to smirk just a little, but for the sake of peace he decided to continue looking contrite. He turned to the new guy again, taking in the immaculate suit, straight back and the suddenly completely serious expression. He was definitely less relaxed than Diggle had ever been, his body so tense in trying to be as imposing as possible. Oliver decidedly preferred Diggle's more laid-back, though equally professional attitude. He suddenly realized that it had made him feel less like a job and more like a friend, which was one of the reasons he'd trusted his former bodyguard enough to bring him to his base of operations. Nonetheless, for the time being, he had to contend with the new guy. At least until he had gotten him to resign and Diggle to sign back on. He might as well be nice to the guy, after all one would expect a billionaire son to be able to crack a smile once in a while – even if most of them were in fact fake.

"Hi," Oliver greeted the other man.

"Mr Queen – Rob Scott, I'll be your new body man," Rob replied, shaking Oliver's hand firmly, so that he couldn't help but wonder if the man was trying to assert some kind of dominance.

"It's a firm grip you've got there, Rob," he acknowledged with a grin, hoping to get across both how futile such an attempt was.

"Yes, five years SWAT with monument point MCU."

"I feel safer already," Oliver deadpanned.

Before Rob could reply to the inherent mockery, his mother drew both their attention.

"Thank God we won't have to hear about that horrible man anymore."

Oliver turned to the TV, which had run on mute so far. There was a report on about the imminent execution of a Peter Declan for murdering his wife. He picked up the remote to turn the sound on, just in time to be told that Declan's wife Camille worked for Jason Brodeur. The name instantly rung a bell with Oliver alarming him. Brodeur was one of the names on his father's list and if he was one there, there might be a good chance that the woman's husband was innocent. However, the execution was in forty-eight hours, not leaving him much time to dig up evidence to support his suspicion. Even if he could unearth something, it wasn't like the vigilante could go to court and present it to a judge. Declan would need a lawyer willing to take his case in order to obtain a stay of execution. If he was innocent, Oliver needed to act quickly, but first he needed further information on the case. As he didn't want there to be any connection between Oliver Queen and this case to arouse additional suspicion once the police realized the coincidence of his return and the vigilante's beginning career falling at roundabout the same time, he decided to use the more protected computers at his hideout to do a little research. First, he needed to get away from his new best friend though.

"Say, Rob, I was thinking of heading into town. Could you get the car for me, please?", he asked cheerfully.

"No offense, Mr Queen, but I've heard about your disappearing act, so if it's all the same to you, I'd rather keep you in my sight at all times."

That hadn't helped Diggle either. And it wouldn't help Rob. He stepped a little closer, clicking his tongue in fake disbelief.

"We're twenty miles from the city," Oliver intoned in a conspiratorial voice, then trailing of for a poignant pause before continuing. "If you don't drive me, how else am I gonna get there?"

He watched realization dawn on Rob's face and accepted his part apologetic, part embarrassed half-nod with some amusement. It was good to know that his new bodyguard was also rather gullible; that would make slipping the leash so much easier. He felt no guilt in misleading Rob the way he had sometimes felt for lying to Diggle and to him that was just additional proof that he needed to get the war veteran back on board with him, fully on board this time. A moment after Rob left to get the car, Oliver turned to his mother.

"I like him," he said as sincerely as he dared given the number of quips he'd already made at the man's expense. Then Oliver left to get his motorcycle. A childlike part of him was extremely pleased with himself when he drove past Rob and watched his reaction as he realized that he had been duped. He let the bodyguard's angry yell wash over him as he headed directly to what would soon become his club. Once there he checked his father's book to be sure Jason Brodeur was on the list, but there was no mistake. Then he proceeded to do a little online digging, pulling up several articles on the Declan murder. He discovered that all evidence pointed to the fact that the right man had been convicted. Most murders are committed by people close to the victims and Peter Declan's wife Camille was murdered with a knife from their kitchen, which had Declan's fingerprints all over it. Of course, it being a knife from their kitchen that was not surprising, but he was also covered in her blood when the police found him. Declan had claimed that he had been trying to save and revive Camille, but the police hadn't believed him.

Not overly surprising giving the amount of evidence they'd found on him shortly afterward. It was an open-and-shut case to them, but not to Oliver. For the vigilante this case was simply too clear, the evidence too perfect and then there was the fact that Jason Brodeur was his wife's employer. That man had made it onto his father's list for a reason, which made Camille's death suspicious, particularly as some articles about the court case mentioned that Camille had told Declan that she was going to see her supervisor about some breach of regulations. Oliver didn't know what had happened to that lead as the news reports didn't mention it, but whatever it was about, it was not good. He didn't doubt for a second that someone like Brodeur would show little hesitation at removing a subversive employee, but why not just fire her? To discover that he would need to gain access to the police reports on the investigation. Since he had no contact in the department himself, that left him with two options. One, he could break into the police precinct – not an idea that suited him; he wanted to avoid unnecessary confrontation with the force if possible. Which left option number two: track down someone who did have access and convince them to use it for his benefit.

He had a plan. Now he just needed to find her.

That evening he made his way through the city for the first time not in order to scare some high society scumbag out of his fraudulently obtained millions, but in order to find a certain birdie to help him out. An hour into the search he grew beyond frustrated. The last to times he needed to locate her, he had either known where she would be or known she would seek him out to prevent a bloodbath. This time he had to start from scratch. He had already tried the docks in hopes that maybe she had returned there to clear up the rest of last night's mess, then the Exchange Building and its surroundings still cordoned of by yellow police tape for the same reason. He had deliberately sought out minor crimes, waiting in the shadows for a bit to see if she would turn up to stop them. So far she hadn't which had left him to apprehend two petty thieves, stop one convenience store/pharmacy robbery (why would anybody bother?) and interrupt a couple of gang-bangers before they could start shooting each other up in the middle of a street... His continued search left him tired and grumpy, a dangerous combination when he suddenly came face to face with Laurel Lance's small form walking down the street to her car. Oliver took in his surroundings briefly; he hadn't realized he had reached CNRI.

He decided to stay a moment to take a respite, somewhat basking in the presence of someone else who cared enough to fight for this city. His moment of peace was quickly interrupted, however, when he noticed two men following Laurel at a couple of paces' distance. Oliver gritted his teeth; he could clearly see the men's intention in the way they stalked her. If Laurel was lucky, all they would take would be her money. He felt a surge of irrational anger rise in his throat as the men joined her at her car. She had just pulled out the key when one of them grabbed her arm to turn her forcibly around to face them, then slammed her back into the side of her car. To Laurel's credit, she didn't bother with niceties. Instead she tightened her grip around her keys and let her purse fall deliberately off her shoulder. The men were distracted as she must have suspected, allowing her to stab her keys into one man's shoulder in one quick, fluid jab. The man stumbled back, clutching his stomach to stop the blood from leaking out. He probably let out a series of expletives, but Oliver could only hear them as indistinct mutterings as he rushed down the side of the building to help her. Because the other man didn't hesitate either, backhanding her across the face. Laurel fell onto the ground sideways against her car. Oliver thought he could make out a trickle of blood coming out of her mouth. She instinctively raised her leg and slammed it into the man as he was about to grab her. Just as she'd righted herself again, her attacker made another grab at her. Laurel raised her hands to intercept the attack, but it never reached her.

Oliver had reached them and effortlessly pulled the man away to shove him into the nearest building. Without hesitation he followed the path he'd thrown the man, stopping only briefly to punch out the one Laurel had stabbed fiercely. He had tried to swallow down the burn of his anger, but instead of going away, it had merely spread to every inch of him. He believed that only her swift response to the attack had allowed his colder judgment to regain control, so instead of pounding the man senseless, he merely slammed a knee into his already abused abdomen and knocked his head into the wall twice to guarantee that he would stay down. Then he turned only slightly toward her, so as not to allow her to see under the hood (he really had to get a mask or something like the Canary used). He briefly assessed her injuries, but mostly she was just dirty from falling to the ground. There was indeed a smattering of blood on her face and he could see an angry red bruise forming on her cheek, but all in all she looked more angry than hurt. He felt the urge to take her into his arms to soothe her, look her over more thoroughly as he had done after they had been attacked at her apartment, but she also had picked up her purse and was calling the police, which meant he needed to make a quick escape.

"Wait, please," she called after him as he moved away. He inclined his head toward her to signal that he was listening. "Thank you. For... for helping me."

Helping her, not saving her. He liked her confidence. A thought struck him suddenly. He hadn't been able to find Black Canary tonight, an issue that he needed to remedy for future instances, but he also knew that Declan would need a good lawyer to bail him out. He hadn't given it much more thought, just considered dropping off any evidence he could with Detective Lance, but perhaps he had considered the wrong member of the Lance family. Instead of trusting the police to do the right thing, maybe he should go find Declan a lawyer himself. And maybe he just had... He turned around to propose just that to Laurel when he noticed the sound of sirens coming closer. Cursing, he legged it, returning to the roof where he waited just long enough for the first police car to arrive. He knew they would take her to the precinct for questioning, which would take a while. That should give him the time to prepare everything to confront her at her apartment. Instead of continuing his futile search for the female vigilante, he headed there instead, manipulated the lights an waited.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

When Laurel came home late that night, she was exhausted. Work rarely tired her this much, no matter how long the hours she kept, but when she'd joked with Joanna about getting mugged on the way home, it had been just that, a joke. Naturally, it had to happen and with the vigilante stepping in to help her to boot. She had realized he was there almost as soon as she stepped out of the building, just as she had noticed immediately when those two dirtbags followed her. There had been shadows moving above and behind her which she'd caught when she'd laid back her head to crack out the kinks in her neck. The men's heavy steps and rumbling murmurs hadn't helped conceal them either. The Hood had been quiet, but his presence had limited her options in regards to defending herself. He had seen her fight, so she knew he would recognize Black Canary's style if she was not careful, just as she knew he would interfere. When all was said and done, all she could do was thank her savior and call the police. Going to the precinct to make a statement and the inevitable debate with her father about working in the Glades that followed had drained her more surely than if she'd added another ten hours of work at CNRI to do an all-nighter.

When she finally opened the door to her apartment, all she wanted was to heat up some left overs while she took a shower, eat and hit the pillows. So when she moved to switch the lights on and they remained stubbornly off, she should really have been more concerned for her own safety. She should have backed out and called the cops – again – but instead all she felt was frustration at having to confront someone else tonight. This time, there would be no holding back, no niceties; she was going to make sure they never wanted to break into anyone else's home again and then, and only then would she call the police to escort the poor bastard out! She took another breath to calm herself before she could do something she would regret. She didn't need a police report that said her thief had been hospitalized by her ninja skills. So instead she grabbed the gun she always kept handy at her father's insistence and headed in to sweep her apartment. When she came upon her living room, there was a figure sitting in the chair next to her couch. Laurel raised an eyebrow at how comfortable he had made himself after breaking and entering. It didn't take him getting up immediately as she approached for Laurel to realize that it was the hooded vigilante. She was all too familiar with his form in the dark. Her hands holding the gun sank a little because she knew she had nothing to fear from him. Then she snapped them back up a second later, reminding herself that she had never met him before tonight as Laurel Lance. It wouldn't do to make him suspicious by revealing her budding trust in him. A little suspicion on her part probably wouldn't go amiss either. There was no telling what he wanted.

"Hello, Laurel."

He made a move toward her and her hand tightened on the gun.

"Don't move... Stay back," she ordered. "You don't know who you're dealing with."

"I'm not gonna hurt you," he said in that distorted voice of his and somehow it ran soothingly over her. She had guessed as much, but it was good to hear nonetheless. He switched his bow from one hand to the other as if to emphasize his point. "I'm not the person you think I am... and I need your help. Peter Declan is going to be executed in forty-eight hours; I think he's innocent. Declan's wife was gonna blow the whistle on Jason Brodeur. Brodeur had her murdered and framed it on Declan."

He was moving closer again. Laurel kept the gun up even though she wanted to drop it. She considered him as he drew closer and closer until his gloved hand gently covered hers on the gun and pushed it down. She didn't offer any resistance. Her instincts told her she could trust him. He moved past her to stand at her back. She moved her head a little, just enough to see the outline of his hood and his shadowed face below.

"There are a thousand lawyers in Starling City," she told him calmly. "Why me?"

She saw and felt him step closer, she could feel the heat from his body on her back. His warm breath tickled her neck when he spoke. His voice was right in her ear, trusting perhaps. Confident that she would be persuaded. His proximity was part of his strategy; it was the same as all the times she looked into a client's or a witness' eyes to create a rapport. He was treating her so familiarly because people tended to be more trusting, more willing to listen when treated like a confidant rather than a stranger. She knew the tactic well, but could still feel its effect working on her as she felt herself relax in his presence.

"We're both trying to help," he murmured softly in her ear.

"What makes you so sure I'm gonna help you?" She would; she knew that already. Even if Brodeur wasn't a dirtbag whom she could easily picture having Camille Declan killed and framing it on her husband, she would still help him because it meant a chance at discovering something about him. She was still trying to piece together the bits she'd learned so far in order to form a coherent picture that might eventually lead to a name and this was a prime opportunity. He had no reason to be as guarded around her as he was around Black Canary. To him Laurel Lance was just a civilian attorney, which might make him lower his guard, make him act more like himself around her rather than this persona he had created. If she could compare his behavior to the Canry with his behavior to herself as Laurel, any discrepancies might give her insight into who he was on the inside. After all, she knew that the vigilante as well as the civilian identity could quickly both become masks that hid who she was inside because she was both, but she had to be careful not to let too much of one show in the other.

She didn't turn around to face him, though she wanted to. His brief hesitation in answering made her wonder what he was thinking of, made her want to confront him directly and see if she could glean something from what she could see of his face. She felt him regard her, felt his gaze on her as he weighed his answer carefully. When he spoke, his voice was not the familiar, intimate murmur of before. Though it held just as much confidence, Laurel thought it reflected a sense of hope, a want and a need to believe in her.

"Because I think you'd do anything to save the life of an innocent man."

Then he was gone. She knew he was because his heat and the intimacy of his presence had gone with him. Without a sound. She was left wondering if he wanted her to believe in him too.

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 _(Starling City Penitentiary)_

The next morning Laurel had decided to confront Peter Declan himself. Sitting opposite him in the prison's visitation's room, he didn't look like he'd butchered his wife. He looked tired. Sad. Like he hadn't slept since the trial, since discovering his wife's body in their daughter's room. The way he spoke about the murder sounded defeated, not guilty. He was a man who had been resigned to his fate when all of a sudden another attorney had walked into his life. Then he'd resumed his claims of innocence to try and convince her to take his case. He was willing to place whatever remained of his hope in her, because there was no one else he could turn to. All the world thought he'd murdered the mother of his child. Laurel did not doubt for a second that even Declan's attorney must have shared in that opinion and wondered if the man had been given a fair trial. She might be able to use it if his legal assistance had not done their job correctly. Before that, though, she needed more to go on, a reason to reopen the case – and she needed to be certain that she would be defending the right man.

"Mr Declan, the police found next to your wife's body in your house, drenched in her blood. The same blood that was on your kitchen knife, which also had your fingerprints on it. The same blood which covered the trunk of your car!", she told him resolutely. Nothing better than playing devil's advocate if she wanted the truth out of the man. Guilty and innocent men would become angry, but only a guilty man's reaction would not go beyond anger to...

"I tried to revive her; that's why I was covered in her blood! And of course the knife had my prints on it, I must have handled it a thousand time, but I did not kill my wife with it. And I don't know how the blood got in my car, I had left it at home when I left the night before! I loved Camille, I would never hurt her! I would never have taken my daughter's mother away from her!", he pleaded with her. He implored her to see how perfect the set-up was, how perfectly he had been groomed to take the fall.

Only an innocent man would be as desperate as he was angry. He wanted someone to believe him, wanted her to believe him and she did. Had she not already had strong suspicions against this case before coming here, the desperate, sincere look in Declan's eyes would have convinced her a hundred times over. This man before her had been framed and everyone, the police, the public, even Laurel herself, had gobbled it up. She, Joanna and the others at CNRI should have been more suspicious; it had been too perfect from the start. Laurel remembered those days. When Declan was first arrested, she'd just started building her night time activity up. She had been so tired all the time and work at CNRI had been swamped that she had not given peter Declan's case in the media another thought. Just another marriage drama that ended in a bloodbath. She hadn't paid attention. No one had and now Declan was sitting on death row, less than two days away from being executed and it had taken another killer to snap her out of her indifference. Laurel fought down the surge of shame that threatened to engulf her. There was no time to wallow in guilt and self-pity. All she could do now was make amends.

"Neighbors testified that they heard you and Camille arguing loudly the night before. Is that why you left?"

"Yes, we argued. She had discovered that the company she worked for illegally dumped toxic waste and that she'd gone to see her supervisor Matt Istook about it. I thought it was stupid; she'd risked getting fired and we still had to pay for the house. We couldn't afford losing her job, so we argued. When we stopped yelling at each other and couldn't look one another in the eye, I decided to spend the night elsewhere. Give us space, you know. When I returned home the next morning; I wanted to apologize. I knew she only did what she thought was right, but she was already... I found her," Declan told her, his voice breaking up the more he said. Laurel felt her heart go out to him. She couldn't imagine coming home to mend fences and finding her father, her mother or someone else she loved murdered on the floor.

"So Istook knew about the toxic dump?"

"Camille said she'd talked to him, so I would assume so, yes."

"And Jason Brodeur?"

Peter Declan took a moment to think about it. Then his face grew strained as if he fully realized the implication for the first time. Perhaps the thought had never come to him before. She knew he hadn't voiced it in any interviews with the press and no news article mentioned it from his deposition at the trial.

"If Istook told him about it..."

"Mr Declan, there is very little time left, so I have to be honest with you. I can't promise that I can save you..." She waited for a moment to let that sink in. She could not give him false hope. The time constraints alone made it highly unlikely that she'd get the evidence in time. "That being said, I'll do my best to obtain a stay of execution and to reopen your case."

"Posthumously, if necessary," Declan deadpanned in retort, but he didn't sound angry, merely resigned. She felt horrible for not being able to give him the hope he deserved, but she could not lie to him and say that everything was going to be fine when she knew it might very well not be.

"I will do everything I can to find justice for your wife."

With that and with one last determined look, she motioned the guard to let her out. She had evidence to find, no time to waste and a vague idea about where to start. The police were the ones who'd opened and shut this case, so she would start with them. She couldn't help a small, guilty smile as she imagined the confrontation she was heading toward with her father. He had not been the arresting officer, but he, like everyone else, had assumed Peter Declan's guilt and the police would be loathe to admit error in order to reopen the case. Still, perhaps she could convince him to go over the testimonies with her. When she reached the precinct, she found her father on his way out. Upon seeing her, he asked Hilton to get the car ready while he talked to her for a few minutes. When she mentioned the Declan case, his face closed off a little as expected, but she persisted until he pulled out the file containing various related depositions.

"I thought it would be a cold day in hell when you started defending crooks," he commented.

"Peter Declan told me that his wife had gone to see her supervisor – a Matt Istook – about the company's toxic dumps."

"Yeah, but according to Istook that never happened. He never even saw Camille that day," her father replied confidently, showing her the deposition.

"So one of them is lying."

"Yes, but Declan was found with Camille's body, his prints on the murder weapon, her blood in his trunk and a motive."

"The argument," Laurel stated to her father's nod, " but see, he claims that was about Camille risking her job in going to see Istook."

"Yeah, he claims that... Look, the man is about to be executed. If I had the slightest doubt about his guilt, do you think I'd be working on anything else?"

She smiled at him gently.

"Sorry, dad, I know you would never just sit by if you thought an innocent was being punished, but I believe him."

"Laurel..."

"All I want is some information, dad. I'm not asking you to stick your neck out for him, I'll do that."

"That's what worries me."

"Like Deadshot," she said casually, but Quentin stiffened all the same. He knew his little deception would come back to bite him eventually and he had to admire Laurel for holding out so long in mentioning it. The glare she was giving him belied the casual tone in which she spoke. She was beyond livid with him and Ted, who'd had the good grace to cop up to knowing as well. The detective had little doubt that he felt the repercussions much more than he himself had so far – after all, the two trained together regularly. Looking into his daughter's eyes now, he could tell that it was his turn and that she would be holding this over him for a while yet.

Quentin sighed. He could see that his daughter wasn't going to let this one go. If she was convinced that Declan had been framed, she'd stay on the trail like a bloodhound and the only two options that remained for him was to stay out of her way or to help her. Laurel being his daughter, the first wasn't even an option to be honest. So instead of arguing further, knowing how futile it would be, he got Istook's address from the deposition and wrote it down on a stick-it note, offering it to her. He had little doubt that Istook was going to receive a rather unpleasant visit from one of the local vigilantes, but at least he wouldn't have to worry about another body in the morgue. When Laurel made a move to snatch the paper out of his hand, he pulled it back.

"Where does the sudden interest come from, anyway?", he asked curiously.

Something passed across Laurel's face that he could not identify because it vanished just as quickly. Was it guilt or annoyance or embarrassment? Quentin suddenly had a bad feeling about this case, the same bad feeling he'd had with Somers and Deadshot...

"The vigilante. After rescuing me from those thugs-"

Quentin snorted, knowing full well that Laurel had been faking the severity of her predicament.

"-he told me about his suspicions regarding Declan's case and, dad, he's right. It is too neat, too perfect. A dead wife and her murderous husband on a silver platter, like someone wanted you to find him that way."

"Laurel, not every criminal is James Moriarty," Quentin said tiredly. "Sometimes the obvious answer is the right one. And as for your... source, I don't need to tell you that you can hardly call him trustworthy."

"Then neither am I."

"It's not just because he's a vigilante. Laurel, for God's sake, he's murdered people! He doesn't just take the law into his own hands, he plays judge, jury AND executioner. He's dangerous, which is exactly why I didn't tell you about the Exchange Building in the first place."

"He didn't kill you, even when he protected me from getting arrested," she whispered . They'd both lowered their voices and moved to a secluded spot. It seemed that was all they did when they argued, which they did often where her extracurricular activities were concerned. "He clearly not devoid of a moral compass. Maybe if I help him I can find out why he is doing all this and why he goes about it the way he does."

"And then what?", her father asked calmly. "Call the police. Reveal his identity. Why do I have a feeling that's not what's on your mind."

She didn't answer, but that was as good as conceding his point. Quentin's worry grew with every encounter between the Hood and the Canary and it seemed he had been justified. She was being sucked into his world, clouding her vision. When she had started this he'd admitted that there were gray areas in which a vigilante might be useful and he'd supported her because they'd both watched the city slowly turning on itself, devouring the one most in need of help. But since the other vigilante began on what the detective called his killing spree, the gray area had come to resemble black ever more clearly. Despite this, if the press were to be believed, people should acclaim that ruthless bastard and kiss the ground he walked on. Now even his daughter couldn't seem to find the line anymore!

"Laurel, you can't be-"

"Dad, I don't know what I'll do in the extremely unlikely case that I'll discover who he is during this case, but you raised me to do the right thing. And the right thing is to save an innocent man from death row. Just trust me, okay," Laurel implored quietly.

Like he hadn't done before. That was what Quentin heard and he knew that had to be why she didn't wait for his response. She left him standing alone in that corner just when his partner had decided to come back into the office to look for him.

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 _(Queen Consolidated)_

"It seems like someone forgot lunch with their wife," Moira announced as she walked into Walter's office. She smiled to take the sting out of the words, so he would know he was not in trouble. That sweet man; sometimes he took small mishaps too seriously. Walter looked up surprised to see her. His face turned baffled at her words and he moved to look at his watch as he answered.

"What are you talking about, lunch isn't until... 40 minutes ago. I'm so sorry," he corrected sadly when his glance landed on his watch.

"Don't worry, they're holding our table. What's been holding you?", she asked amusedly as he came around the table to greet her with a kiss. Walter was not one for public displays of affection normally, so the kiss remained just a chaste peck on her lips. She was a tad surprised he had kissed her at all in his 'glass house' – as he called his office sometimes.

"Accounting flagged a suspicious transaction. 2.6 million dollars worth of discrepancy in our accounts."

"You think somebody embezzled from the company," Moira questioned carefully. She remembered clearly the day when she had reallocated those funds in order to salvage her husband's yacht for leverage against the man who'd murdered him. Who she had let murder him and her son. When Malcolm had suggested an accident, she thought about a small, personal accident leaving Robert to drown. She had not considered that he might sink the entire yacht or she would have never allowed Oliver to leave with his father. Five years she had carried not only the tremendous guilt of having been an accomplice in the death of her husband, but also in those of all the friends and staff on the boat when it went down. Worst of all, her own son and young Ms Drake had been lost to the depth. She had recovered the Gambit in an attempt to salvage herself. Not only did it present leverage, but it allowed her to entertain the idea of letting the whole plan go up in smoke. All she had to do was inform the police, no, inform Detective Lance specifically – he deserved to bring them all in – and this nightmare would be over. Every day she toyed with the idea and every day she relegated it to the next day, knowing what could happen to her and her loved ones between the opening of the investigation and Malcolm's arrest. And even afterward...

When she looked at Walter now, she could only see a car accident, or an elevator malfunction or perhaps Malcolm's assassin standing over him. Her son had been miraculously returned to her – her, the most undeserving of all those who lost people that day! She selfishly relished the miracle, of course, but she was not unaware that he or Thea or Walter could just as easily be taken from her. She could not bear another dead soul on her conscience. She had to stop Walter from looking into this mystery and for that she needed to find an explanation for the missing money that would satisfy him.

"No, no, I'm sure it's a clerical error. The money will turn up, but accounting is understandably worried," he replied to her question, but Moira barely heard him. "Now, let's get to the restaurant. We wouldn't want to keep them waiting. Well, any longer, that is."

Oblivious to her tension, Walter placed an arm around her and guided them both toward the elevators.

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 _(Matt Istook's apartment)_

The lights had been turned off in the entire apartment when she'd reached the address. It didn't deter her. Istook would eventually return home for the night and she would be waiting for him then. Quietly letting herself in, she first scouted every room, making note of the placement of weapons and objects that could be used as such. She removed the two guns she found from their hiding places, shuffling them under a rather heavy-looking oak drawer. She also hid several kitchen knives in diverse cupboards and drawers where they would not be readily accessible. She doubted Itsook would get that far when she confronted him, but better safe than sorry. Laurel memorized the layout as well as all possible escape routes in case she had missed something or he wasn't alone, before took out the fuses for the entire apartment and decided on a hiding spot near the entrance. She expected that he would head for the closest gun once he realized he couldn't turn on the lights. This would lead him right past her while the darkness would shield her from sight.

"Aren't you going to search the apartment for evidence?", Ted's voice whispered in her ear. When she'd gone to collect her costume from the secret room in his gym and told him what she needed it for, he had raised a curious eyebrow. Thankfully, he hadn't pressed her or reprimanded her when she had to tell him about her run in with the vigilante. Laurel felt a twinge of guilt as she thought about how she had deceived both her father and her partner by implying that the vigilante had approached her about the case right after the attempted robbery and before the police came to the scene. She wondered what it said about her that she was willing to lie for the man/murderer/vigilante she barely knew and shouldn't trust to people she had known and trusted for ages... "Canary?"

Ted's concerned prompting returned her to the present. She breathed a sigh at his use of the code name. They had agreed never to use real names on the job; there was always a chance, however infinitesimal, that the signal might be intercepted.

"Search – how tedious! Why search when I can just wait for him to come home and tell me," she told him teasingly.

"Sloth." A chuckle came from the other end of the line along with the insult, easing its impact.

"Me, never," Laurel cracked back. Normally, she hated waiting, but Ted had not only helped her to develop patience, but even found a way to reign in her boredom. Now she enjoyed these quiet moments, the calm before the storm as it were. She even found herself looking forward to them, filled as it was with gentle, teasing banter between the two of them. It also reassured her that she wasn't alone, that there was help if she needed it – be it advice, a quick call to the police or even a brief reappearance of Wildcat. Ted would always stand by her and bail her out if necessary and while Laurel was a strong and strongly independent woman, she was ready to admit that doing this shit alone would have just been stupid! Her mind got briefly side-tracked wondering of if the Hood had a partner. It would make sense if only so they could run interference in his private life like her father and Ted did with Joana every time her friend's remarks about how Laurel lacked a life got a bit too close for comfort.

"If you say so," Ted quipped back with a derisive snort. "I don't envy Istook."

There was the sound of a key being slid into the lock.

"He's coming home now," she murmured as quietly as possible as she pressed herself closer to the wall.

"Okay, don't worry. I've got your back."

She wanted to respond, somehow acknowledge all the help he continued to give her, but that was when the door opened. She perceived the man's movement as he came in and shut the door, then heard him operate the light switches a few times. Suddenly the tension in the room mounted to a near unbearable level. Laurel could taste it on her tongue just as she imagined to hear the cogs turning in Istook's brain. She knew what he was thinking when he moved carefully toward the cabinet where he had hidden his Glock. Laurel didn't move, barely dared to breathe as he moved past her. He didn't notice her off course. Her corner was too dark and he was too focused getting to the gun in order to shoot down his assailant. She didn't doubt that he expected someone to jump at him out of the dark either, but from a standing position, while she was folded in on herself to fit into the shade. When the darkness remained quiet and unmoving, Istook's body relaxed slightly if the sigh he gave was any indication. Nonetheless, he didn't let his guard down completely and instead attempted a new tactic to lure out potential intruders.

"You're making a big mistake you know," he called into the dark. Laurel's hand grasped the small recording device she had brought along for this mission and switched it on just as he resumed speaking to muffle even the slightest beep of the machine. "You don't know who you're dealing with. I work for Jason Brodeur; a powerful man. You don't just fuck with hi-"

He stopped talking suddenly. As if a thought that had occurred to him had scared him greatly, Istook lunged across the last few steps to the cabinet and tore the top drawer open, only to find the gun missing. Taking a breath, knowing it was her cue, Laurel got up quietly. The motion alerted Istook to her, but by that time it was already too late. Laurel had crossed the short distance between them, ducking under the arm the man raised instinctively to protect himself, she landed to painful fists against his ribs and stomach. Istook grunted in pain. When he turned hastily toward her in order to hit her, she used the momentum of his blind swing to throw him over her shoulder onto the ground with his own force. Then she pulled him up forcefully, twisting his arm around his back until the pressure was just this side of painful and Istook realized that any movement would only help her break his arm. Laurel walked him forward to the nearest free space of the wall. She used one hand and her body weight to keep him in place, while the other held the miniature voice recorder under his nose.

"And now nice and clear for the cops, please," she told him softly through the voice distortion.

"I don't know what you want from me, bitch!"

She twisted just a little further until he wheezed a breath in trying to reign in the immediate pain.

"I'm really getting tired of that term," she warned him darkly. "Now, Camille Declan. She told her husband she came to see you the day of her murder about highly illegal toxic dumping. You told the court that never happened. One of you is lying and I don't think it's the man on death row. Now talk."

"Please, you don't know who you're dealing with. He'll-"

She let go of his arm to grasp him by the shoulders. Turning him around, she slammed him forcibly back into the wall, then again when he tried to free himself of her grip. She followed that time with a swift knee to the groin to run home just how serious she was.

"He'll kill me." Suddenly, Istook didn't sound so tough. He sounded like a scared child – if said child had no conscience and no care for anyone but itself. Laurel almost felt sorry for him, almost, but she remembered the pictures from the crime scene. The brutal way in which Camille had been stabbed to death in her daughter's room with the little girl sleeping only a few feet away. This man did not deserve her concern. Her only concern was getting Peter Declan off so that he didn't have to pay for a crime he didn't commit and his daughter wouldn't be made to belief that her father killed her mother.

"He's not here right now," Laurel reminded him ominously.

Istook laughed, but it didn't sound confident or convinced.

"Trying to sound tough after the new guy ruined your show," he mocked her. "Sorry, sweetie, but you don't have it in you, I can tell. You lack that killer instinct."

She smirked and it was all teeth.

"He'll only kill you. I'll put you in a body cast for six months," she threatened him in a rich, low voice that promised him the pain of a lifetime. When Istook looked at her non-plussed, she rolled her eyes, realizing she would have to explain the punch line. "And then I'll come back to do it again after six months. And six months after that. And... well, you get the picture. I'll find you. Wherever you run, I'll always find you and if you think some brawny bodyguards can protect you, ask James Holder's how well that worked out for their boss."

Istook gulped as if he were thinking it over. She seized him by his throat and gave it a carefully controlled squeeze. _Think faster_ , she was telling him. She could feel his throat convulse at the pressure. His hands shook as if he were fighting the urge to try to peel her off of him. She took hold of his hand again and began to twist ever so slightly. The memory of earlier, his arm twisted almost to its breaking point, finally got through to him.

"Okay, alright, damn it!", he wheezed out past her hand. She raised the voice recorder back to his face. "Camille came to see me that day. About the toxic dumps. Brodeur offered me money, lots of money, so I lied. Of course I did."

Laurel was disgusted. A woman died, her innocent husband might die for her murder and their killer was getting away with it, because money was more important.

"Evidence," she said simply.

"Her report is still at my office. In the right-hand drawer of my- augh!"

She had gone back to squeezing his throat.

"Do not waste my time. You are disgusting, but you're also smart enough not to take Brodeur at his word. You must have made several copies and one of them is here." There was no doubt, no question in her voice, though it made her physically sick to give him even that much credit. "Where?"

"Kitchen, third cupboard on the left. The box with loose green tea."

"Thank you for your cooperation," she replied sarcastically, before she slammed his head back into the wall hard enough to knock him unconscious. With a disgusted snort, she made her way over to the indicated hiding place. Inside the large green tea box she found dozens of hundred dollar bills and a piece of neatly folded paper. A copy of Camille's report; the evidence she needed to get a judge to give Declan a stay of execution. She folded the paper back up and stuck it into the inside pocket of her leather jacket. She thought about taking the money, too, and making some charity project in the Glades very happy, but if Brodeur tried to wrap up loose ties Itsook might need the money. Much as she despised the man, she didn't want or need his death on her conscience.

"You got it?", Ted asked quietly. After having been listening to the entire exchange, he was just as anxious as her.

"Yeah" she breathed. "It was there."

"Lucky him, or he really would have woken up in a hospital eating through a tube."

"No," Laurel countered. "I would have woken him up first."

"You know, Canary, sometimes you scare me."

"Comes with being badass."

A chuckle.

"No doubt. What now?"

"I'll get the recording to the police." When she said 'the police', she was thinking of one detective in particular. "Maybe they can reopen the investigation. It would help..." With Declan's stay of execution. And with mending their slightly weathered father-daughter dynamic.

Hopefully.

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 _(Big Belly Burger)_

Oliver entered the restaurant after Scott, waiting patiently as the man did a brief visual sweep of the perimeter. When he cleared the space for Oliver to got sit down with Diggle, his voice was still tight, anger over having been ditched earlier not fully dissipated. Scott was nothing if not professional though, so nothing showed on his face or in his demeanor except for the cool detachment with which he treated his charge. Oliver found it half amusing and half irritating; he really hoped Diggle would accept his double life soon and come back. As he sat down, his former bodyguard pushed his bowl of fries in his general direction. Oliver wasn't sure if that was a good sign or not, but he took one and munched on it before he started their last conversation up again.

"Hello, I couldn't help but notice a distinct lack of police cars when I came home. I knew you wouldn't drop a dime on me," he said, hoping that starting off with positive reenforcement – the carrot as it were – would set the tone of the entire conversation. "So, have you considered my offer?"

Diggle scoffed.

"Offer?", he questioned derisively. "That's one hell of a way to put it."

"It is an offer," Oliver reiterated. "It's a chance to do the kind of good that compelled you to join the military."

"Please," the other man scoffed. "You were born with a platinum spoon in your mouth. What, you spent five years on an island with no room service and suddenly you found religion?!... You and your girlfr- what is that?"

Diggle was suddenly taken of course when Oliver pulled out a small, worn notebook that he'd never seen before. The way Oliver was handling it so carefully told Diggle something about how important it was to the vigilante. Perhaps he had found or invented some weird faith during his time on the island. Diggle had seen it before with soldiers – a coping mechanism to makes all the stress and disasters and carnage tolerable. Maybe he should not have been so hasty to dismiss the notion, or the possibility that Oliver Queen was suffering from serious PTSD despite how at ease and well-adapted he acted most of the time.

"This was my father's," he said by way of explanation.

Diggle raised an eyebrow, but picked it up anyway. The father who had died; his remaining possession. It seemed vastly important to Oliver. He looked through it, but all he saw was a list of names. Then he realized that he'd recently seen several of these names in news reports. They were the people the vigilantes had hit. So there was a connection...

"I found it when I buried him."

"You said your father drowned when the Gambit sank."

"We both made it to a life raft, but there wasn't enough food and water for both of us to survive, so he shot himself in the head." His delivery of the account was calm, but there was a tightness to his voice that betrayed his turmoil. It would be natural for him to feel survivor's guilt anyway, but this must have made it a thousand times worse. "And as much as he was doing it to give me a chance to survive, I believe he was also atoning for his sins... I need to right the wrongs done by my family, and I'm offering you to right the chance done to yours."

"As what? You seem to have quite the efficient partnership already."

Oliver frowned. He didn't know what Diggle was talking about. Trying to think back on recent events, he could only think of the Black Canary. He had asked about the Black Canary before, seeking information, and he had still been on the island when she had stared operating in Starling. How could Diggle think that they were partners? Then again, they had partnered up occasionally and he supposed he could see how that might be misconstrued. Then he thought back on their conversation.

"Wait, earlier you meant Black Canary, didn't you?" That half-finished sentence. This was insane. "I've known her for all of ten minutes."

"Black Canary?"

"The Woman in Black, it's what she calls herself."

"So, you're at the name-exchanging state, then. When will you introduce her to your mother?", Diggle quipped back reminding them both of a conversation he was privy to not long after Oliver had returned.

Oliver remained silent, but gave him a begrudged smile.

"You worked with her on Somers, Holder and Deadshot."

"Yeah... No. She got in the way with Somers, and she had already been there at Holder's. And yes, we did work together on Deadshot – in a manner of speaking – but that isn't a partnership."

There was a moment of silence at their table and Oliver sat back contemplating the Canary further.

"I know she's well-trained. She could hold her own against me and I don't think she's shown me everything she's got either. She's calm under fire; you saw her when Deadshot held her hostage... There was fear, but she was in control, and she has a contact in the police. I also don't think she's working alone..." She had to have a supplier of some kind, unless he was to believe that she created all that nifty tech on her own. True, he didn't know her background, though he had speculated that she was a cop, but still he leaned toward a third party supplier. Maybe someone in the police's CSI department; they hired all kinds of scientists and an employee would also be a valuable source.

"And what, you wanna jump on the wagon?!", Diggle snorted.

Oliver looked up at him again.

"The police never caught your brother's shooter-"

"Hey, you leave Andy out of this!"

"-but the bullets were laced with curare – Deadshot's calling card. He is the sniper."

"Are you trying to tell me that you took down Andy's killer?", Diggle asked with a hint of something in his voice. Gratitude or incredulity or anger, Oliver wasn't sure, but he nodded imperceptibly.

"I'm giving you the chance, a chance, to help other people's families. Do you remember when the people in this city helped each other? They can't do that anymore because a group of people – people like my father – they see nothing wrong with raising themselves up by stepping on other people's throats."

Part of Diggle wanted to challenge him, point out that that made him part of the problem, not the solution. He saw the conviction in Oliver's eyes, though, and wondered if he couldn't be both.

"It does need to stop – and if it's not gonna be the courts and it's not gonna be the cops, then it's gonna be me. And you, I hope."

"And Black Canary," Diggle murmured as Oliver got up and excused himself with Scott to go to the bathroom. Even Oliver, standing so close, could barely hear him. His jaw tightened somewhat. That woman confused him. He still didn't know what to make of her, despite their mutual agreement. Reluctance had given way to calm, almost friendly camaraderie, except she was not an ally, not really. They would undoubtedly end up on opposite sites again sooner or later. He wondered how long it would take and what he would do when the time came. He didn't want to hurt her. And perhaps that persisting reluctance scared him more than even their inexplicable... partnership, to use Diggle's term.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Queen Residence)_

Walter looked so intently at the computer screen that for the second time that day, he didn't notice when Moira walked into the room. Only when he heard her talk on the phone, did he raise his head to look at her. She had made her way to the crystal Scotch container and poured herself a glass, her cell phone clamped between her ear and her shoulder.

"Yes, don't worry, I'll see to it that nothing goes amiss," she was saying quietly into the phone.

" _You better. If he's following the money trail, he'll find the warehouse and if he finds the warehouse, he'll find..."_ , a man's voice said on the other end.

""I'm aware. I wouldn't miss our bridge game for the world."

" _...He is there with you."_

"Yes."

"Fine, then handle it right away. He could mess up our plans and we can't have that. I won't allow it." The line clicked.

Walter had refocused on the date on his computer again as soon as he realized it was Moira no doubt chatting with a friend. Ultimately it was the clinking of the crystal and the sound of flowing liquid that attracted his attention again to where his wife stood several feet away. When he looked up he realized that Moira had put away the phone and was looking back at him intently as if she were trying to puzzle something out. Then she smiled gently, raising her glass in salute and using it to indicate his work at the company computer.

"Still on the trail of the missing money?", she asked teasingly.

"The accountants were getting nowhere fast, so I thought it couldn't help to help them a little," Walter replied tiredly, taking off his glasses, but looking back at the computer screen all the same. Whatever had happened to that money, it wasn't the accountants fault for not finding anything. The trail of the missing millions was buried beneath tony of unrelated data as well as some misdirections, such as fake company departments that shifted the money back in forth – no doubt until it would ultimately leave the company's grasp entirely, but Walter hadn't gotten to that point yet. Whoever had taken hold of that money, they had gone to quite some length to keep it hidden in the company's intranet.

"I think I've solved that mystery for you," Moira announced after a moment.

Walter looked up at her again. "Oh?"

"I think I'm the culprit."

He raised an eyebrow at Moira. If she had gone to all that trouble just to... appropriate some of the company's money, why hadn't she told him earlier in his office. Then he considered that for a moment. His office's glass walls and generous space might look elegant and official, but they were hardly conducive to a confidential conversation. Sound could carry and as he recalled the door had been open and his secretary just outside.

"2,6 million is a very specific number. It's the exact sum of money we invested in a friend's start-up company a few years ago," Moira explained guiltily. Doubly guilty, actually; both as part of her role and because she was lying to Walter. She hadn't invested that money into a friend's business idea, but had a trusted ally use it to salvage the Queen's Gambit. "I guess it wasn't properly registered at the time, but don't worry, I'll call accounting in the morning and clear everything up."

With that she stood, before she lost the fight against the better part of herself that wanted to tell her husband everything. She fluttered out of the room a little hastily, leaving behind the glass of Scotch she had just poured herself. Walter watched her go with a smile on his face that darkened considerably once she was out of sight. He wanted to believe her so desperately, but no one would hide the evidence of missing money so well that it would only be discovered years later if they were just trying to help out a friend – and he was unfortunately certain that this had been deliberately done. What he did not understand was why Moira would lie to him. For whatever purpose she had taken the money, sure she could share it with him. They could consider what to tell accounting together. Instead, Moira had chosen to lie to him and Walter didn't understand it, worried that there might be other things she lied about. He had never wondered if Moira was faithful to him and he still didn't, but now he realized that there was a darker, dishonest aspect to their relationship that he had been previously unaware of.

Oliver wasn't the only one to keep secrets in this family after all.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Judge's Office, the next morning)_

"Based on the new evidence, your honor, I request a stay of execution for my client Peter Declan, so the police can investigate this new lead."

"I don't know, Ms Lance," the judge said, unconvinced. "Looks pretty thin to me."

"Your honor, this document proves that someone other than Peter Declan had a reason to murder Camille."

Judge Moss looked up at her sceptically. She took a moment to scrutinize Laurel's face and posture, probably wondering how a lawyer from a legal aid office had ended up trying to perform a miracle for a convicted murderer at the last minute. Ms Lance was well known for taking difficult, even desperate cases and surprisingly winning more often than she lost, which against the rich and powerful of this city really meant something, but for the life of her, she couldn't figure out how the activist lawyer had ended up jumping on Peter Declan's death row train to try and change its final destination. Still, when she had heard that Ms Lance had taken on the case, she had known the young lawyer would turn up at her office sooner rather than later requesting a stay of execution, she had just expected her to do it with more proof. Now she took in the other woman's stubborn set of jaw as well as the determined, almost angry look in her eyes and realized that Ms Lance was planning to do much more than just delaying a man's death.

"I take it you have someone in mind already?"

"Your honor," Laurel acknowledged without a smile. "Toxic dumping is a highly illegal, but sadly common practice among industrial companies – one for which they can be fined exorbitant amounts in fees and for which criminal charges can be drawn against those who participated or knew of it, but especially those who authorized it. If Camille Declan's report had seen the light of day, Jason Brodeur and his company would have been liable to those charges. He had the most to lose and therefore the most motive to... make the problem go away."

"That's slander!"

Both women looked to the office door, through which several well-dressed men, including Brodeur himself, had just entered. The man who had spoken walked straight up to the judge to introduce himself as Brodeur's lawyer, before continuing.

"My client had neither means nor opportunity to kill Camille Declan-"

"I never suggested he did it himself," Laurel muttered angrily.

"He barely had motive, seeing as he didn't know about the toxic dumping until Ms Lance uncovered this misfiled report."

"Misfiled?! Are we supposed to believe that Mr Brodeur was not aware of where the waste from his industrial production facilities went."

The judge was beginning to look irritably between the both of them.

"It's a large company; the disregard for environmental concerns explicit in this document's disappearance could have happened at any level. Mr Brodeur had no prior knowledge of-"

"Of buying Matt Istook off so he would make the report disappear. Yes, I agree it was probably a heat of the moment decision," Laurel replied sarcastically.

After her outburst a dead silence overtook the room. Everyone was staring at her, literally everyone – the judge, the other lawyer, Brodeur's goons and the man himself. The latter was probably the most satisfying reaction and Laurel allowed herself a second to gloat in it, before chewing herself out for making such a stupid mistake. How she would explain that she knew of the money was beyond her. Ted was working on finding the money trail now, but even then she would have to link it convincingly to the 'misfiling' of Camille's report. On the other hand, maybe this outburst would be exactly what she needed to get Brodeur to confess. She could put pressure on him with what she knew, then pretend she had only been guessing when he confessed. If he confessed. Laurel wanted to tear her hair out; she wasn't usually this reckless, but somehow these past few weeks – the new vigilante, Somers, Holder, Deadshot, the Triads – her hackles had been raised to where her temper was simmering too close to the surface.

"So first murder, now bribery – wild accusations; do you build all your cases on those, Ms Lance," the lawyer taunted her. "Or perhaps we should question your source. Mr Istook was at the police station earlier, reporting an attack by the local woman vigilante..."

Laurel kept her face carefully neutral, but it was becoming quite the effort with every word he said. For a moment, she thought he might take the next logical step and accuse her of attacking Istook, of being the masked vigilante.

"How did you get your hands on that report, Ms Lance? Did it just magically sit on your desk this morning?"

Laurel smirked. As far as everyone else at CNRI was concerned, that was exactly what happened.

"I really wouldn't know and so long as I got the information in good faith, I can use it. And I intend to."

"A lucky coincidence?"

She was about to reply, when someone else came in and beat her to it.

"She got it from me. It magically sat on my desk this morning," her father's told them as he strode over to the judge's desk.

"No, come right in. My office isn't crowded enough."

"I'm sorry, your honor, but there was additional evidence this morning that I wanted to have analyzed first. After that, the SCPD officially reopened the case on Camille Declan's murder."

He handed the judge a flash drive and nodded at her computer. Judge Moss looked around the room at the disparate group of people crowding in on her desk. She could easily see that neither Ms Lance nor Mr Brodeur's lawyer were likely to settle the matter anytime soon, and although she found Brodeur's appearance suspiciously convenient, both in regards to his own accusation by Ms Lance and to prevent Mr Declan's potential stay of execution, so far she had to agree with his side that Ms Lance didn't have enough evidence under the law to point to an alternative killer. Not with enough force to mandate a stay of execution. So if Detective Lance's new evidence could help make the younger woman's case and demonstrate a need to suspend the realization of Declan's punishment, she would consider it. She plugged the flash drive in and opened the folder. It only contained one data pack. Her eyebrows shot up when she opened it to hear Mr Istook confess to making the report disappear and to Mr Brodeur's role in the matter. She could tell from the tape that he had resisted at first, but the vigilante had been relentless in her pursuit of his admission of guilt.

And therein lay the problem...

"Your honor," Laurel started, but the judge held up a hand to silence her.

"Ms Lance, I know what you are going to say, but this confession was obtained under duress, so I have to disregard it. A man would say anything to save his life or limbs, and we cannot fault Mr Istook if he retracted his confession."

At this point, she gave Detective Lance a look, who reluctantly nodded. She was not surprised.

"And the document alone, while it proves Mr Istook's criminal action regarding a breach of environmental law, does not raise enough doubt under the law, which I am obligated to apply, to warrant a stay of execution."

"Your honor, the interest of justice demands that you-"

"Justice? Ms Lance, we don't have a court of justice, but a court of law."

Laurel swallowed with difficulty, but pulled herself together. It wasn't as if she had never heard that argument before. First thing every professor had told them on their first day at law school was that if they were looking for justice, they should major in ethics. Law and justice were not the same thing and often, sadly, didn't even go hand in hand. But Laurel was not one to give up quite so easily.

"And isn't our court of law meant to serve the interest of justice. Otherwise why do we keep placing imagery of her on our court houses and other legal institutions. What is the point of all of them if there is no place for ethics in the law. It is better that ten guilty persons escape than that one innocent suffer."

"The Blackstone formulation," the judge acknowledged.

"A man, a potentially innocent man could die-"

"Ms Lance, I am not making this decision lightly. I assure you I have taken Mr Declan's stakes, _his life_ , into account. Nonetheless..."

She didn't finish. She didn't need to. For a second, both women stared at one another, each disappointed by the other's lack of understanding, of acceptance. Then, Laurel gave an imperceptible nod and turned swiftly on her heels to walk out. She didn't go far, though. Instead she stopped right in front of Jason Brodeur. His body guards made a move toward her to get handsy, but Judge Moss gave them such a withering glare that they thought better of it. Laurel took only a moment to assess Brodeur's smug grin, waiting just long enough for it to fade, for the confidence the judge's decision had given him to evaporate as her anger pulled that security out from underneath his feet. And when she spoke, her voice was cool and detached, a stark and foreboding contrast to her heated discussion with the judge a moment ago.

"This isn't over," she announced calmly. "I've got the loose thread now and no matter what happens I'm gonna keep pulling on it until your entire world unravels."

She allowed herself to be pulled away by her father, guided out the door like some kind of spooked, dangerous animal, but she didn't mind. She was too wrapped up in her contemplation about how to proceed with Brodeur. She had to inform Peter Declan about the rejection of his stay of execution, but at the same time she had to get a confession from Jason Brodeur if she wanted to take another shot at saving his life. She couldn't do both. Even Black Canary couldn't be in both places at once – at least, she couldn't do it alone.

"What were you thinking?", her father asked when they were both in the car.

"When? When I sneaked the evidence into the police station or when I blabbed to Brodeur's lawyer that I knew about the bribe?"

"Both." He was not amused by her antics.

"I don't know, dad. I was... I wasn't thinking – and before you agree with me, I would have handled it. I wanted to use it to push Brodeur into confessing. I still might."

"Yeah, well, you're just lucky I decided to come by to tell the judge the police has reopened the case. That usually helps with this stuff. And the recording..."

"Not this time," Laurel reponded tiredly, "but thanks for trying."

"What now?"

Laurel rubbed her hands over her face.

"I have to sort out some paperwork and prepare a few other cases and then I... then I have to tell Peter Declan." She almost chocked on that bit. Maybe she was too emotionally involved in her cases, but everyone who came to CNRI was in desperate need of help. She had chosen to become a lawyer to be like her father, follow him into the law to use it to make the city a better, safer place. Today, she had failed, but maybe tonight she could make up for that.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(CNRI)_

"You're really putting the hours in for Declan's case, aren't you?", Joanna asked as she watched Laurel pour herself another coffee – she had lost count after the seventh cup – and return to her desk. As the other woman sat down with a soft sigh, she continued. "You know that you can study and sigh at that report as much as you want, it won't change the judge's decision."

Laurel looked up.

"I know, but I've got to try and this is the only lead I've got," she told her friend quietly. She quickly took a sip of her coffee to hide her face behind the mug. That wasn't the only reason she had spent the last couple of work hours procrastinating while she watched her co-workers pack up and leave one by one. She was always the last to go home, so nobody thought in unusual. Now Joanna was the only one left and once she was gone, Laurel hoped the vigilante might make another appearance, minus the assault and the subsequent breaking and entering this time. It was her only hope in making contact with him before she had to go inform Declan of the judge's decision and she only had a very small window of opportunity, so as much as she loved her friend, right now she wished Joanna would leave already...

"Why are you so invested in this case anyway? How did you get caught up in this?"

Laurel pressed her lips together. Of course, she would have no such luck. Now the question was how much to tell Joanna or whether to tell her anything at all. She risked a glance at her friend as she placed the coffee mug back on the table. Joanna had come closer, close enough to lean a hand on her desk. When she saw Laurel looking at her, she removed it in order to cross her arms challengingly over her chest. Laurel gave an amused chuckle. Her regular height and petite frame didn't make her friend particularly imposing, but there was something ferocious about her expression that had Laurel swallow the chuckle in another gulp of coffee.

"Oh, God, please tell me it wasn't that woman vigilante who extorted a confession from Itsook. Laurel-"

"It wasn't," Laurel quickly cut her off, sensing that her friend was about to start a lecture. She hoped the matter would be settled now that Joanna's worry had been appeased, but the awaiting silence that followed her statement clearly told her otherwise. Finally, Laurel relented. "It was the other one."

"The other one," Joanna echoed non-plussed.

"You remember the other night when I was attacked?", she asked in a low, conspiratorial voice, even though no one but them was in the building. "Well, he was there. He asked me for help."

Laurel swore she could see a vein twitch on her friend's forehead.

"You know, when I said you should meet somebody, this wasn't what I had in mind," she deadpanned. "Wait, then how did the Woman in Black get involved?"

Laurel shrugged.

"The Hood, I would imagine."

Joanna made a face at that suggestion. "Not sure how I feel about those two shacking up," she muttered and Laurel almost spilled her coffee. "But I know you shouldn't get in the middle of that. These people are dangerous, Laurel."

"I know, but he has a point, doesn't he? Declan's case is too neat, too perfect." She felt like she'd repeated that phrase at least a million times in the last day, she must have really worn it out. Apparently, Joanna agreed because she looked about as sold on the idea as a mice would be on a cat. "Look, something doesn't add up, and Peter Declan is about to lose his life for a murder he did not commit. I have to try."

"Okay, fine. I know I can't stop you, but at least be careful. And when this goes south as I expect it will, I reserve the right to tell you 'I told you so' for at least the next month." She said it with a grin to take the sting out of her words, but the worry in her eyes made Laurel's stomach churn uncomfortably anyway. All the lies she told that hurt people she cared about. The guilt always gnawed at her. Normally she could ignore it easily enough, but sometimes it would flare up to become almost unbearable. Joanna grabbed her coat and made her way out the door and Laurel followed her with her eyes. She still stared at the spot where her friend had left her line of sight when suddenly all the lights went out at once. She shot up out of her chair. Strangely, she didn't feel afraid, perhaps because she had anticipated the hooded male figure that she spotted at the emergency exit a moment later. She couldn't see them in the dark, but she felt that her eyes locked with his for a moment, after which he disappeared through the door. Swallowing, Laurel followed with her folder on Peter Declan's case in her hand.

When she reached the roof she couldn't spot him immediately, but Ted and her had honed her senses as well as her body, so she sensed his presence nearby. In order to give herself something to do, she walked over to the edge of the roof. She remained a safe distance from the edge, but as the view of the city below unfolded for her she couldn't help but enjoy the rush of adrenaline as part of her urged to jump to the next building. For a moment, it would feel like flying, a moment in time standing still just for her. Traveling over rooftops was exhilarating, it always made her heart beat a little faster and a little lighter than anything else she had ever tried. Finally, she felt him move in close behind her. Not quite touching, much like he had done at her apartment. Her hand gripped Declan's case file a little tighter in an involuntary reaction she couldn't quite ascribe to any particular feeling or thought.

"Is there a reason we can't do this face to face?", she asked instead, to give herself time to calm her fast-beating heart now.

"You've met with Peter Declan?", his smooth, contorted voice asked instead of answering.

"You were right," she told him, latching onto the business-centered conversation if he wouldn't allow her small talk to distract herself. "He is innocent. Declan said his wife blew the whistle on Brodeur the day she was murdered. But the police report states that her supervisor Matt Istook never met with her."

"Then he must be lying. I can get the truth out of him."

"Already got it."

A beat of silence.

"I got the real report from my father this morning. Someone delivered it to the police department. I thought it was you-"

"Not me," he murmured, but he could imagine who it had been. How she got wind of this, he didn't know – unless she'd been working on it as well. It seemed like a case she would take; the case of the little guy who got thrown to the wolves by rich and powerful people who didn't care who they stepped on to stay on top. He'd gotten interested due to the list, because of Brodeur's bigger crimes, but he wasn't picking off the list in any particular order and Declan, through whom he'd even started thinking of Brodeur: he was the little guy. Oliver bit his lip, not sure what to think of that.

"Yeah, dad told me. The other vigilante apparently left more than a document. There was an audio file with Istook's confessing to having made the report disappear."

"Then Declan will go free?"

"No, the judge refused a stay of execution because she saw the confession as coerced and the report itself didn't adhere to the standard of _the law_ for reasonable doubt," Laurel informed him. She knew she sounded bitter, but let him hear how frustrated she was with today's events. Most judges so far had taken a confession Black Canary had procured, working under the assumption that a scared man was an honest man. She had always felt a little uneasy by how easy it was for the D.A. to introduce such compromised evidence into their legal system, yet she was comforted by the fact that the right people were being punished. The one time she tried it, of course she had to get the one judge with a moral stick up her... She was being unfair; after all the judge had only abode by the law.

Oliver felt the frustration and desperation rolling off of her in waves.

"Now, even though the police have reopened the investigation, the execution will continue as planned. So unless they miraculously uncover something in the next few hours... You asked me for help and I failed. I failed you. And I failed Peter Declan."

His jaw set painfully as he listened to her disparage herself.

"Not yet. It's my turn now. What do you need?"

"At this point, nothing short of a signed confession by Jason Brodeur."

"You'll have it on your desk by morning."

"It can't be coerced," she warned him. She had just been down that path. "The judge will simply-"

"Not know how it came about." He would make sure Brodeur never spoke of this night even at his deathbed confession.

Like that didn't sound ominous to Laurel. She had felt him move away from her, so she turned quickly and grabbed his arm. He didn't turn back to her, but neither did he try to break free or move away. Instead he just waited for her to speak. The muscles in his arm felt tense under the leather. Her initial instinct was to brush soothingly across, but that was something Black Canary had gotten irrationally comfortable doing in an incredibly short amount of time. It was time to be Laurel Lance.

"I didn't become a lawyer to break the law and hurt people," she said quietly. No, that's why she had become a vigilante.

"I do what is necessary. What people like Peter Declan need," he told her with conviction, but his shoulders slumped a little. She wondered if her opinion of him mattered somehow. And if so, why?

She decided to probe a little further.

"If what you're doing isn't wrong, then why are you hiding your face with a hood?" This was the most important question. There were only two possible answers, and whichever he gave would make it clear to her whether to consider him friend or foe. Laurel felt a twinge of guilt; as with Peter Declan, she was testing him. If he wore the hood to protect himself, then Ted (and everyone else) was right; he was a danger to himself and Starling City and she would have to find a way to bring him down.

"...To protect the ones I care about," he murmured so quietly she barely heard it. Her heart skipped a beat in relief.

"That sounds lonely." She didn't really know since she'd had her support network pretty much from the start, but he was new to this life and he struck her as very self-reliant. She didn't think he trusted anyone – not enough. Perhaps she, either as Laurel Lance or as Black Canary, could become part of his support network. Even if he never trusted her fully, he shouldn't have to do this alone.

"It can be," he replied, shifting his arm gently from her grip to squeeze her hand. She almost startled at the touch. "But not tonight."

When he moved again to leave, she watched him disappear.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

Oliver rushed to Iron Heights, so much so he barely noticed the traffic flow by. When he finally reached the correction facility he had only blurred recollections of how he had gotten there. Determinedly making his way to the nearest inattentive guard, he knocked the man unconscious and quickly, efficiently changed clothes. Hiding his bow, quiver and outfit, he kept only the wrist bands on him that stored his smaller, dart-like arrows, which he could hide under the long sleeves of the uniform. Then he donned the ski mask, the one thing he had made a stop for on his way to Iron Heights. He couldn't take his hood in there with him, but he needed to protect his identity, so he'd practically scampered to his hideout where he stored a few of them – in case the hood didn't work out. In fact, he was in the process of getting a mask anyway, inspired by the domino mask Black Canary wore.

He shook his head free as he made his way into the prison. Brodeur had admitted to him that he had sent a killer to assassinate Laurel with help from the inside. Someone would unleash the prisoners to cover up the deliberate murder, but one of the supposed inmates would be a professional making a beeline for his target rather than rioting with a brutal, unforgiving rage. When Oliver made it to the block where Laurel would be meeting with Declan, he heard the alarm go off. Someone had realized that the cells had been opened. Noise arose all around him, angry bellows and cruel laughter. His jaw set as he thought of all the prison guards who's end of hospitalized or even massacred just so Jason Brodeur could stay out of prison. He cast the thought from his mind quickly; there was nothing he could do for the guards immediately stationed in the cell blocks. Nothing anybody could do. He had come here with only one goal: to protect Laurel and Peter Declan, so instead on dwelling on the sounds of the riot – the yelling, the roaring, the screaming – he quickened his pace toward the meeting rooms where Laurel would have sat down with Declan to explain the situation to him.

He found her before then. She and a guard had moved away when the alarm began ringing. When he met up with them they had just wandered a little ways into a cell block with two guards lying dead or dying on the floor, cell doors open and prisoners cheering. Their gloating turned into a uniform leer at the sight of the female attorney. The officer with her did his duty, did the heroic thing knowing what it would cost him as the prisoners pounced, pulling her back by her arm and almost flinging her out the hallway. Laurel's lack of reaction despite her likely extensive self-defense training showed Oliver just how scared she was. She knew there was no way she could fend all of them off. Probably she expected to die there, which would have explained why she didn't move. He grabbed her arm, making use of her mindless state himself to pull her further down the corridor and leaving the officer to his fate. Oliver grit his teeth, trying not to think of the innocent blood for which he, too, was now responsible, and focused on his mission. She followed him without either resistance or enthusiasm.

He had to wake her up, he thought, then didn't need to because suddenly she took the lead. Moving in front of him and instead of taking the stairway that would lead to safety led him to the meeting room where Declan and one other officer were still waiting for her. She took control of the room, barking out swiftly what was happening and that they needed to leave. They could hear the approaching mob, one voice overpowering all the others. Oliver guessed that to be the assassin. Leading the crowd. Hiding in the crowd. The meeting room had a door, but there was no way it would hold up. Laurel grabbed Declan and motioned for him and the officer to follow as she made for the door again. They were only a few feet away from the stairs after all and the crowd had delayed to toy with the guard who'd saved Laurel. They rushed out the room and toward the stairs. The crowd came into sight, fast approaching. Brodeur's assassin was a burly man, bald and muscular. They made it round the corner and down before the crowd reached them, but the killer and his unwitting crew were now hot in pursuit. Oliver, bringing up the rear, stopped momentarily to beat them back. Burly noticed him and let a few of the others pass ahead of him, likely guessing who he was. Oliver made quick work of the fools who'd gone ahead, their unconscious bodies blocking the way for the crowd.

The assassin was quicker though, particularly considering his body size. He slipped by Oliver as he was busy with his three assailants. Once he'd gotten rid of them, he made to follow Burly, but a hand reached over the unconscious men to grab him, then another. Rather than try to overcome their fallen comrades, they were pulling him over their bodies, unbalancing him, no doubt to lay him on the ground where he would be defenseless. Oliver had to react quickly, so he jammed his elbow into the nearest of those who held him. It didn't have the right force because he was too far away and didn't have the proper balance, but the shock made them man jerk back an release his arm. This provided Oliver with enough range of movement to allow him to throw two of his small arrows in quick succession, hitting one man square in the gut and the other in the knee. Both men had been trying to get a good grip on him, but now they doubled over and tumbled to the ground. The rest of the crowd quietened down when they saw the arrows. Oliver gave them a measured look, assessing the fear in their eyes and knew they would not follow him again. With that certainty he rushed off after Laurel, Declan and Burly. He'd seen them rounding a corner not too far from him in his peripheral vision. As he followed the last indication of where they had gone, the quieting of the crowd began to make way for other noises.

Noises of a struggle; a grunt, a moan of pain.

Oliver quickened his pace down the new hallway, following the sounds. He came into the general meeting area for family and friends. Visiting hours were over, but Laurel had proven good thinking in figuring that it might prove a way to safety, a way out of the prison that she herself must have used several times as an attorney during day time. They'd never made it to the other side of the room though. Oliver stopped on the threshold only long enough to ascertain the situation. The guard was lying on the ground in growing pool of blood. The vigilante's eyes immediately found the knife that had been flung several feet away at some point in the fight. Peter Declan knelt by the guard, pressing onto the wound and Laurel... There was a crash as Laurel was flung over a table into a set of chairs just as Oliver reached the room. Though he sprang into action immediately, the assassin was on her first. He knelt above her, legs to either side of her hips, arms outstretched as he chocked her, so she couldn't reach his eyes or ears, soft tissue she could attack to defend herself. Oliver rushed toward the pair planning to pounce on the killer and thereby push him off of Laurel. Laurel, meanwhile, placed both her feet flat on the ground as close to her assailant as she could get. She extended both her arms above her head and in one swift move jutted her hips up and to the side to unbalance her attacker. Burly, not expecting the sudden shift in position or the leverage it would give the petite woman in his grasp, fell to the side with Laurel rolling after him to give him a quick punch to the nose. Due to the awkward angle, her punch wasn't powerful, but it was enough to make blood squirt from his nose and make him bellow at the shock and pain.

Before he could retaliate, Oliver's body crashed into Laurel because he had already been mid-air when she switched their positions. Instead of Burly, he pulled Laurel with him to the ground, rolling until he was lying on top of her and could jump right to his feet again. Laurel wasn't as quick as he, wheezing as she was. She gasped in air, desperate to fill her lungs. A hand came up to her throat as if to soothe away the pain with a tender touch. Her tiny hand could not hide the imprints of the assassin's larger ones, slowly but surely turning an angry red and purple right in front of Oliver's eyes. He softly raised a hand as if to touch them, but snatched it away again quickly when Laurel flinched. She flinched, scared to let anyone near her. Burly's stomping steps warned the vigilante of his attack, which was just as well, because at that moment, at seeing Laurel flinch away from him, something snapped in Oliver. Quick as a bolt of lightning he turned to let the assassin run straight into his fist as he slammed it into the other man's stomach. Then he grabbed him by the collar, leading him around in a tight circle and throwing him into the same set of tables and chairs that he'd thrown Laurel over. He was about to make his way over to put the man in a body cast like he deserved when he met with resistance. He turned in a rage, forcefully tearing his arm away from the grasp that was keeping him from his goal, only to realize what he should have known right away. It was Laurel who had taken hold of him; Laurel who now stumbled back more in shock than because he had unbalanced her. Her eyes were trained on his and widened in momentary panic, then she grabbed his arm again and pulled him closer.

"Enough," she said simply. "Please, enough."

More noise filled the room. New voices and heavy footsteps as the guards stormed the visiting room, but Oliver was barely aware of it even as he maneuvered Laurel back against a wall where an officer with a riot shield joined them. The sheen of red rage had lifted from the vigilante's mind at Laurel's quiet, pleading look. Enough, she'd said, and enough it had been. Enough violence for one night; he dared not think of all the officers down – dead – all the families who'd lost someone today. He dared not think of his own lost control as he quietly informed the officer who had joined him of the assassin and why he had been here and who had sent him. Then he hastily made his way out the other door to the visiting rooms, making use of the chaos to make his escape. But not before casting one last glance at Laurel's face. He had known her for such a short time and yet the attack on her had sent him into such a rage. He hadn't experienced anything this strong, this uncontrollable since... If her injury was enough to eradicate his carefully maintained control, was it any wonder that her conflicted expression gutted him?! How did she seem to have such power over him? And what did that mean?! He sought refuge on the roof of one of the prison buildings rather than try to leave the area completely. He arrived just in time to see Laurel reunite with her father. The man had been clearly worried, embracing his daughter tightly as if he never intended to let her go. Oliver felt more at peace now as if there had been some remaining anxiety for her safety that her father's presence resolved. He watched them speak in hushed tones, too quietly for him to hear more than a few snippets.

"...you okay?"

"Yeah... Hood came... deliberate..."

"Deliberate?", her father repeated shocked and Oliver's ears perked up. To hear that one's daughter was the target of a deliberate hit was certainly shocking, but something about how Detective Lance said it, something in his tone made the hairs on Oliver's neck stand up. Like the attack had some broader implication, like he'd maybe expected it for a while and yet not at all. Oliver couldn't quite classify it yet. Maybe like it had happened before? Well, there was Somers... Exactly how many enemies could one attorney make herself working for a legal aid office? Oliver almost chuckled; he would have to keep a close eye on Laurel Lance if this was a regular occurrence.

"Is it because...", her father continued. At first Oliver thought he couldn't hear the rest, but then he realized Detective Lance hadn't said anything else.

"...don't think...careful...more training...Ted..." Oliver's heart clenched even at the fraction he could gather. The attack had clearly left her reeling if she wanted to get more involved in self-defense. He'd seen her skill first hand and knew she was as good as one could get without an outlet in real fights rather than sparring. If she wanted to deal with this night by throwing herself into being even more prepared, he was all for it, but the very fact that she felt it necessary also ran home how miserably he had failed! If he hadn't let himself be caught off-guard by the mob, or let the assassin pass while those lowlifes were used to distract him, that bastard would never have gotten his hands on her. Oliver's hands curled into fists at the memory of seeing her prone on the floor. Even if she'd reacted quickly and decisively, the image of Laurel being strangled and her flinching as he raised a hand to inspect the marks would haunt him for a while yet. The only thing that would haunt him more would be her reaction when he rounded on her in his mindless anger. He hadn't wanted to frighten her, but he'd been so out of it! He hadn't even realized that it could only be Laurel to have grabbed hold of him...

"What I don't get is, how does a man in a green hoodie walk around a prison unnoticed?" Her father spoke louder this time, attracting Oliver's attention.

"He wasn't wearing the outfit," Laurel answered.

"Huh?"

"He was wearing a uniform and a ski mask... What?", she asked after a pensive pause.

"I don't know yet, but it's an interesting detail."

"When he attacked that man – I know he was doing it to protect me, but... his eyes, he had no remorse... It scared me, the look in his eyes." She huffed, disappointed in herself and Oliver's heart clenched.

"Oh, baby, I'm just glad you're safe," her father replied in a stricken voice. Laurel's head cocked to the side in answer, regarding him a moment.

"...Go on," she prompted, out of the blue.

Detective Lance raised an eyebrow at her.

"Tell me you told me so. You've been dying to, I can tell."

"Yeah, well, Declan is innocent, so... I guess we're even."

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(SCPD)_

"Do you have a warrant," was the first thing out of the technical officer's mouth when Quentin approached him late that night. He'd made sure Laurel got back home safely and had assigned a couple of officers to her building as a precaution, despite the fact that his colleagues across town were currently arresting Jason Brodeur and a couple of his associates, on whom the would-be assassin had been only to happy to blow the whistle once he woke up to find himself in an ambulance surrounded by police. After that, Quentin had made his way directly to the precinct, grabbing techie's (1) arm as the man was on his way out and rushing back into the building. Once they reached the secluded space of the other man's high tech office, Quentin had told him what had occurred to him when Laurel mentioned the Hood had been wearing a uniform and a ski mask – and were that thought had led him from there. Which is how he found himself in a small, dark office crammed with computers and other technical gear he couldn't identify all but begging techie to help him out.

"I guess not," the man answered his own questioned after a moment of silence and a look at Quentin's face.

"Look, it all makes sense and with a little digging I could prove it. Call it a hunch, but I know I'm right about this. I just need a favor."

"You know, your favor isn't exactly legal," the tech guy deadpanned, but he was already sitting down, fingers whizzing over the keyboard and swiping the cursor across the screen in a flurry of activity. Several terse minutes later, the noise of the printer working interrupted their uncomfortable silence. Quentin immediately made his way over to the machine and practically ripped the papers out of it as soon as he could. The first few he gave only a cursory glance, until his gaze got fixed on a couple of particular items on the list.

"You better be right, or we both go down."

But Quentin barely heard him, all his attention fixated on the orders.

 _Bingo!_

 **End of chapter 3!**

 **A/N:** Sorry for the wait, but I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless. Quentin is starting to gain ground on Oliver now, but he still has a long way to go and a few surprises ahead of him. **  
**

It didn't end up being that different, but I liked the idea of having Laurel, who has a secret identity of her own, interact with vigilante Oliver. How did you like it?

 **(1)** I'm thinking of the guy that bugged the phone Laurel used to contact the Hood. Does anyone remember his name?


	4. Chapter 4

**Guardian Angels**

 **Summary:** AU/ After five years in hell, Oliver Queen has returned home with only one goal – to save his city. Unfortunately, nobody told him he'd have to wait in line.

 **A/N:** Okay, I've switched the sequence of episodes around here a bit, skipping Damaged for the time being (we will return to it later) due to the changed events in chapter 2. Oliver never takes his costume out of a dumpster at the Exchange Building, so Quentin doesn't really have anything on him.

 **Chapter 4: Marked Cards**

How did he end up in this?

A question Oliver had been asking himself for the last ten minutes or so while he lay head-down on the floor uring a bank heist he was trying to stop. There was nothing wrong with his memory, of course. He could recall with perfect clarity the moment he'd walked into the Queen mansion parlor to find Diggle accepting his offer and he certainly wouldn't forget the man's dirty trick in getting him involved in the bank heists. Oliver's initial refusal had a good reason as he'd told Diggle. These robberies were merely a symptom of the virulent cancer that festered in Starling City. He was fighting the tumors themselves, those who caused the suffering. He'd gladly have left the rabble to the Black Canary. A smirk pulled at his mouth at the thought of what she might have to say to the highhanded way he chose to delegate. A few unkind words might be the least of his problems. Then his mind refocused. He retraced the case thus far quickly, reminding himself of the reasons he was there today. Diggle had lured him to the hospital using a name on his father's list, only to rope him into providing the much-needed medical care for the cop injured in the gang's first robbery in his city. Confronting him with the man's worried wife, her entire face screwed up in fear, tears threatening to spill at any moment – Diggle really knew how to push his buttons.

"I'm not the kind of man who walks away from someone who needs help," Diggle had said. "And, I think, neither are you."

Angry at first, angry enough to give his partner the could shoulder the entire way back to the lair only to berate him once there, the face of that woman kept haunting him. Every time he raised his voice to Diggle, every time he opened his mouth to issue protest, her face reappeared before his mental eye stricken with grief already as if not daring to hope for her husband's survival. As if she had been expecting this all along, expecting to get a call from the precinct or a visit from one of her husband's fellow officers to bring her the worst news. And maybe she had. Maybe that's what all husbands and wives of people in high risk jobs expected. The knowledge had thrown his mind to the question of what would happen to his family if he died while out as a vigilante. To them he was a playboy millionaire with a crazy idea about opening a night club, so the party would never end. They did not expect him to die, to risk his life. And if he did, they'd be told of his death in the same breath as they'd find out his double life. He wondered who they'd hear it from first, the press seizing on a story that would be worth his weight in gold, or would the police get there first? Would they be discrete enough, kind enough...

He'd quickly stamped down upon that line of thought with a viscious snarl that had startled his partner enough to take a step back, thinking perhaps that Oliver was about to turn his skills onto him. Instead, after one last flash of the woman's stricken face as her husband was pushed into the hospital on a stretcher, Oliver had made his way over to the computers and checked the footage from the robbery. Diggle, thankful but aware of Oliver's remaining bad mood, had remained blissfully silent throughout the entire search, even as they both must have realized that there was one less person running out of the bank in fright than there had been on the bank's own security footage before the cameras were destroyed. The missing woman was no doub an accomplice. The gang's inside woman and how they discovered that the cop was about to take action. Reviewing the footage of the shooting, Oliver noticed that the robber who had shot him – Ace – had also punched him for good measure. He could see that they were not wearing gloves and that something indistinct was on the robber's hand, glinting into the camera. From there it had not been difficult to obtain the evidence the police had collected, including a picture of the imprint the ring had left on the cop's face. Associating that with a local high school, they discovered Ace's name. Kyle Reston, disappeared five years ago right before his senior year. His family, consisting of his father, mother, and younger brother, disappeared with him.

"A family business," Diggle had muttered questioningly.

Oliver's brow had furrowed, wondering why an entire family would decide to give up their lives in order to go on a a crime spree across prominent city banks. Scrunching his nose up in confusion, he decided to ask them when he met the so-called Royal Flush Gang. If they were the family he had discovered, that was. His gaze lowered in thought. It made sense to an extent. Whatever their original motivation, a family unit was tight-knit and trusting; two vital attributes if one wanted to commit a series of perfectly timed bank heists across the country. Something still didn't quite fit, though. Why take one's children out of school, why disappear off the face of the earth so completely in the first place. He had turned to instruct Diggle to dig deeper and find out what made this family snap when his gaze had fallen on his partner's watch. He had jumped up immediately, toppling over the chair with the sudden movement. Diggle had jumped then, too, not expecting Oliver's reaction. The vigilante had managed to bite out a few instructions as he had rushed out the door to his perfectly boring brunch with Janice and Carter Bowen.

He had never been so glad when Diggle had finally called to give him the bad news.

His father's involvement had further changed the situation. If he hadn't been one hundred percent committed to solving this case after seeing Jana nearly crying at the hospital as they had rolled her husband in, he certainly had been convinced then. His father's empty promises and backstabbing tactics had caused this family to lose everything and find solace and subsistence in a life of crime. He had to right this wrong. He had to make up for his father's sins. So when Diggle had protested that he was applying a double standard, he had brushed him off. Oliver had been fully aware of that, but nonetheless unable and unwilling to act differently. He had needed to find the Restons and at least offer them an alternative before he confronted them as the vigilante. Before he could dive into all the possible hideouts and haunts that the family might have chosen, Diggle had handed him a small slip of paper with the name of two renowned banks.

"In each city the Royal Flush Gang pulls three heists in prestigious banks, all within a week. They usually come in quick succession, so today you and I need to be at these banks in case something happens."

"And what, just loiter about?"

"They always hit during lunch time when the fewest number of people are about. The banks should have beefed up their security if they did their homework, but – well..."

"They're banks," he had replied. It seemed the 'it won't be me' mentality was pervasive in all aspects of life and business. Additionally, bank security was not supposed to be too visible in banks that prestigious. Customers were supposed to feel safe not under scrutiny. These banks may rely more on electronic and other non-human security measures. "So, we give them business. I already have an account at Starling National. It won't be suspicious if I wanted to review my account."

He had then proceeded to pull several thousand dollars out of his wallet, to the astonished eyes of Diggle. He had given Diggle the money, so he could prove that he could make the necessary first deposit if it came up during the initial consultancy they had agreed Diggle would request at the other bank. Which was how Oliver now found himself in the middle of a bank robbery, lying on the ground reminiscing on how he had gotten himself into this mess. Diggle had taken his gun, but Oliver had to improvise a little. Counting on the fact that they would try to make their way to safety underground again, he had chosen comfortable dark trousers and a green long-sleeved shirt of firm cloth. It was hidden under his high-collared dark suit jacket. He'd folded the ski mask from his trip to Iron Heights into a small bag he put into a suit case and added his armed wrist bands. Luckily, banks didn't yet x-ray their clients' possessions. He wouldn't have to worry about being caught on camera with the mask as the family was sure to destroy them again. In fact, that was exactly what had happened the moment the Royal Flush Gang had control of the room. Oliver, though not bothering to look up, could hear the distinct sounds of several things shattering. After that, everything went relatively quickly. Within minutes the family had gathered the money. Their guard, Ace, had been going around among the hostages in random patterns, but now his footsteps could be clearly heard to take a distinct direction. Oliver risked a glance up and realized he had been called into conference by King, probably his father. Oliver took a calming breath; whatever escape plan they had come up with, it would take place soon. He needed to be ready to go after them. He had positioned himself on the outskirts of the pool of hostages, thereby also away from the cameras, so he could slip away when necessary. He was readying himself to do just that, to jump up and follow after them when Ace returned and pulled him up roughly by the elbow. Instinct from years of training had Oliver want to react, to take his aggressor out, but he fought his instincts down and remained passive. Ace brought him round to face him, the barrel of his automatic weapon coming up to cover where his lips would be if not for the mask, signaling him to shush.

"Everyone be quiet and still!", he addressed the other hostages. "If you follow orders, you'll walk out of here with nothing but bad memories, but if you try anything funny..." He shot a trash bin for emphasis. A frightened shriek went through the crowd. Everyone jerked at the sound, tensing up and subsequently keeping as still as possible. They were frightened enough that the gang's leaving would probably even go unnoticed. In any case, they would not move for fear of retribution. Not for a long while, probably not until the cops moved in at the extensive silence from the bank.

"Nobody move!", Ace emphasized anyway, angrily shouting at the group of hostages, who shrunk away from him further in response. Then he grabbed another hostage, the woman who had disappeared with them the other time as well, bringing her over to the back of the bank. He turned to Oliver and the vigilante could hear the guy's smug grin in his quietened voice. "You're coming with us."

Upon seeing him, King grabbed Ace's arm.

"What's this?! What's he doing here?"

"The police know how we escaped the other bank. They'll expect it this time," Ace argued. "We need a hostage and what better one than Starling's prodigal son." He gestured in Oliver's general direction. Oliver could tell from the remaining tension and jerk of movement in King that the father still had something to say on the matter, but refrained from doing so to avoid divisive consequences or a delay in their exit strategy. The vigilante mentally grit his teeth, mourning briefly the loss of his suitcase with the ski mask and arrow wrist bands inside. He would have to adjust his plan; he couldn't risk revealing his level of fighting skills, but Ace might not give him a choice. If he intended to hospitalize Oliver the same way he had the guard or even kill him, the vigilante knew he would be forced to act, potentially announcing his secret to a gang of bank robbers and, if they were caught, the police. Which would mean that he would have to silence the family. He did not relish the idea and it only made him feel worse when his mind flashed back to Deadshot's accusations. If Oliver could envision killing four people in cold blood to keep his secret, people his family had wronged, perhaps they were more similar than he had liked to admit so far.

He was roughly brought from his thoughts by the deafening sound of an explosion, followed closely by being shoved into a room full of concrete dust. Oliver's lungs seized up at breathing in mouthfuls of dust particles. He was thrown into a violent coughing fit that had his body move involuntarily to curl in on itself while he was still standing. Ace didn't grant him even a moment's respite and instead shoved him again, this time into a hole in the ground. Oliver fell gracelessly, partially because he couldn't permit himself to soften the fall much or risk giving himself away, and partially because he was still mid-cough when the floor suddenly vanished on him. The impact of the ground below hurt, his left side going somewhat numb, but he didn't think anything was seriously broken. He felt the reverberations of four sets of boots dropping onto the ground around him before he opened his eyes. Ace pulled him up without a moment's hesitation and dragged him along the tunnel. Oliver took in his surroundings. He noticed that, while Jack was walking behind the woman, she was being neither held nor shoved, confirming what he already knew about the group's make up. Each of the men had a large bag slung around their shoulders containing the bank's monetary reserves. King led at the front, following by Ace leading him, then the mother, then Jack. The structure was not advantageous for him to act against them. He could disarm Ace easily, but he'd be facing a battle on both sides, blocking any escape route or path to cover in the tunnel, so unless he was planning to take his own hostage...

Before he could contemplate the matter further, a surprised, undignified grunt caught all their attention. Out of nowhere a black figure had gotten the drop on Jack, literally. Black Canary had somehow managed to get one leg over the man's shoulder, while fixing the other under his armpit. Oliver figured she had been lying in wait for them somehow clinging to the ceiling and had dropped down onto Jack at the opportune moment. Using the momentum of her fall, Oliver caught sight of her as she flipped the younger son over, so he was lying on the ground with her knee in his back. Without hesitation, Oliver used the opportunity the family's confusion granted him to squash Ace against the nearest wall of the tunnel, delivering a precise strike to the man's hand in order to make him lose his weapon. His mask came off and Oliver used the opportunity to slug the guy in the face with his elbow. Removing the money bag and the gun and throwing them away blindly, he felt two hand grab hold of his suit jacket and turn him around, then Kind landed a punch in his face. As another punch flew toward him, a small metal bar collided with King's arm before it had fully stretched out. The pain of the metal striking skin and bone underneath made Oliver's assailant retract his limb to cradle it against his chest. Oliver allowed himself a brief glance toward the woman vigilante, seeing the end tail of her throwing the other woman over her shoulder. He also saw that Jack's money bag had been thrown several feet back the way their little group had come along with his gun. Black Canary didn't bother to check if the woman would get back up again, instead moving decisively toward King, she was interrupted when Ace grabbed her around the middle, trapping her arms and lifting her. Oliver dove for the metal stick and, still kneeling on the ground, struck the man's thigh just as she slammed the back of her boots into him. Ace let go and was unceremoniously thrown across her shoulder as well, angled so he would hit his rising brother. Oliver's head cocked to the side; she sure had an impressive awareness of her surroundings at all times.

"Thanks," she said to him, extending a hand into which he placed her baton. Then she turned her attention to King. Sliding her baton back into its holster at her thigh, she extended her hand to him too, presumably for the money bag. Gutsy move, but before she could say anymore, more footsteps could be heard, following by shouts calling for their surrender. The SCPD had caught up with them. After a moment's silence, King scrambled to get his family together, disregarding the two money bags that had been lost in the fight. Oliver could see the vigilante make a grab for her baton as if to go after them, but instead she maneuvered backward, herding him against a wall with her free hand outstretched to prevent him from circumventing her in presumed panic or to run toward the police. She kept herself between him and the Royal Flush Gang until they had disappeared from sight and then another moment. Now Oliver could see the light from the flashlights, no doubt mounted onto the police officers' guns. His heart sped up by several beats at the thought that she might be caught because she chose to protect him.

"Go," he whispered.

"You okay?"

Oliver's eyes widened. This woman... She had a knack for asking the right questions at the totally wrong time. Her concern was endearing, but counterproductive.

"I will be. Now go!", he told her hastily. "Please," he added as an afterthought.

She darted away without further ado, but the first officers were already rounding the corner and opened fire without so much as a 'freeze'. Oliver dropped, laying himself flat against the wall as he heard bullets penetrate concrete and ricochet from solid metal objects. All the while he listened for a feminine cry of pain or surprise, relieved beyond measure when nothing came until an angry voice questioned the officers' sanity for opening fire in the tunnel. Oliver took a deep breath; he had never been so glad to hear Detective Lance yell at people, especially people other than him. Nonetheless, he stayed on the ground until a firm hand on his shoulder made him look up. It was Lance's partner who offered him a hand to help him up. He gratefully took it, checking himself over to see if anything had hit him or if he showed any signs of combat, but there was nothing except a rumpled, dirty suit. Another relieved breath, then his attention was caught by the hostile face of Detective Lance. Oliver was immediately on alert.

"You make it a habit of getting kidnapped, Queen?", Lance asked unkindly.

"Quentin," his partner admonished quietly.

"Oh, come on. Twice since he got back-"

"This isn't my idea of fun, either, detective," Oliver interrupted angrily.

"Something we can agree on. What happened here, Queen?"

"I was at the bank to discuss some possible investment options when these four whack-jobs storm in and hold everyone at gunpoint while their raid the safe!", Oliver replied exasperatedly, putting just a slither of desperation in there as if he couldn't believe what had happened to him, that it had happened to him... "As if that isn't enough, they herd me and another woman to the back of the bank – toward an explosion – and push us into these tunnels to use as shields against the police. If the vigilante hadn-"

"Whoa, other woman?"

"Yeah, small, brown-haired, middle-aged. She was in the bank when those nutters took over. They took her away with them when you – oh God, they still have her; you've got to find her!"

"We will," Lance's partner promised him calmly. "Now, you mentioned a vigilante. Was the Man in the Hood here?"

"Ah, no, sir," one of the officers spoke up, having overheard. "It was the woman. She was standing over Mr Queen when we caught sight of her. That's why we opened fire."

"Is that supposed to make it better?", Lance questioned irritatingly.

"She was a potential hostile-"

"Who, by your own statement, was standing over an in- over a bystander, a hostage who could have been hit by one of your bullets as you fired at her!... Do me a favor, officer, go help find those bullets of yours before CSI gets here and has to comb everything, would you?"

Chastised, but with a look that promised rebellion on his face, the officer slunk off. The trio of Lance, his partner and Oliver watched him go, all with various degrees of irritation on their faces. Oliver quickly wiped his away when he realized, but he figured the detectives would take it as anger for being shot at or due to gratitude toward the woman who saved him. When he refocused his gaze, Lance was looking at him oddly. There was inquisitiveness on his face, but something else too. Something Oliver couldn't name before it was gone again a moment later. It was replaced with his previous hostility. That was something Oliver didn't understand. Detective Lance had arrested him before on occasion when he happened upon Oliver driving under the influence or abusing mild drugs at a party and he doubted the man approved of his womanizing lifestyle either, but all of that was more than five years ago. It was pre-island, and though he had maintained the persona of the rich playboy as cover, it didn't really qualify him for such open hatred on the detective's part. Come to think of it, the detective had had the same attitude when first interviewing him about the Hood after his and Tommy's abduction and then again at Laurel's apartment when the man had placed the responsibility for the attack squarely on Oliver's shoulders, even though the Triads had been after Laurel. He hadn't thought about it before because Laurel's passionate defense of him had overshadowed her father's deliberate accusation in his mind, marking herself as a potential ally (which was why her assessment of the Hood after Iron Heights had stung so much), but now it came back to the forefront of his thoughts.

"Why are you so angry at me?", he blurted out before he could stop himself.

Detective Lance scoffed.

"Where was your bodyguard this time, Queen? He wasn't among the other hostages cowering frightened on the floor."

"He was out on personal business," Oliver answered succinctly, but without letting Lance distract him from his line of inquiry. In for a penny... "Have I wronged you in another life, detective?"

The look on Lance's face turned downright murderous. Oliver took a shocked step back, not having expected this level of enmity at all. Lance's partner quickly stepped between the two and maneuvered his friend away, while informing Oliver that he could go for now.

"Come on, Quentin," he spoke calmly to the enraged detective.

"How dare he... You heard him!" Pacing for several tense seconds, he finally made a beeline for the exit.

"It's best you leave as well, Mr Queen. We'll see you at the precinct for your official statement."

"But what did I do?!", he half asked, half called after the angry man.

Lance rounded on him, and though he didn't come any closer, the tense posture and fists clenched at his sides stopped everyone dead in their tracks. Officers stopped working and looked uncertainly between the two of them. Oliver didn't understand what was going on until he recognized the looks on their faces – compassion, pity, suppressed anger, understanding. They all knew. They all knew why Lance hated Oliver so much. He was the only one left out of the – well, not the joke for this was clearly no laughing matter, but still. There was something that these men and women shared, a story, a pain and it somehow involved him – only, he had no idea as to how. Or how to make it right...

"You wronged me enough in this lifetime, you spoiled, self-centered brat! And the fact that you don't even know just makes it worse, cause it proves me right! You're so focused on your own sob story that you don't see the grief you cause others."

Oliver could say nothing to that. It hurt, because it was true. He knew nothing of Detective Lance's grief or even his own family's. Not really. He hadn't been the son, step-son, brother or friend any of them deserved because the mission came first.

"I'd really hoped you'd rot in hell a lot longer than just five years," the detective added quietly, drawing Oliver's attention again. Despite his hateful words, now the man just looked defeated. Lost.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Ted's Gym – back room)_

"I was right!", Laurel announced, chirping, as she entered their secluded base of operations. Pulling her domino mask off her face served to brighten the triumphant smile she was sporting a little more. She quickly grabbed a pad and some make up remover, dabbing at it and then carefully wiping away the water-resistant dark face paint she always applied around the eyes before donning her mask. It was quickly followed by that grizzly dark lipstick she used. She hated that color. In her opinion, coupled with her pale complexion, it made her look like a vampire. She unzipped her leather jacket and flung it over a nearby stool. "The robbed Starling National this time. Good thing I was close by when the news came in."

"Yeah, yeah, rub it in," Ted answered, scrunching up his nose. "Although, technically, you were only half right."

She looked at him nonplussed.

"The vigilante wasn't there."

Laurel grabbed a water bottle and sat down on the chair next to his, swinging it around so she could face him. Momentarily lost in thought, she took in a few gulps of water. If there was one thing Ted had drilled into her, it was how important it was to keep hydrated. She drank slowly, then folded her legs underneath her body on the chair.

"Yeah, I guess street crime isn't really his milieu," she mused out loud. She had become so used to run into him on the job that she had somehow expected him to show up there as well, but now that she thought about it, he did seem more involved in high-profile crime. She'd never heard of him taking down a street thug, except that one time he came to help her at CNRI. That situation reminded her of how they first met, though, and she was sure he had merely been ready to delay his hunt for Somers to help that woman. He had certainly not been there looking for a bunch of douche bags.

"Oh great, an elitist murderer. Just what this city needed," Ted chirped with false enthusiasm. Laurel cast him a look, but Ted just shrugged his shoulders at her irritation. "Don't look at me like that; he is! You know he is. Why do you think I want you to steer clear of him?"

"That's not all he is, though," Laurel said quietly, not wanting to throw into this conversation how sure she felt that he wouldn't hurt her. They had built a rapport in the short time they had grudgingly worked together, either as Laurel or as Black Canary. True, his... actions at Iron Heights had scared her, maybe even scarred her. Such unchecked anger – there had been so much pain and rage in his eyes! It had left her wondering if maybe everyone else in her life was right about him. That this man had chosen his path and didn't deserve another chance, that he couldn't be saved. But he'd also stopped when she had asked him and clarity had returned to his eyes. His had been a gut reaction; he had wanted to protect her and had been angry for her, but he had not been beyond her reach. He had not been beyond human reach, but she also meant what she had said to her father. There had been no remorse even as his gaze cleared and it scared her. His tranquil look still gave her nightmares! Maybe it was just as well that she hadn't met him today. She wasn't sure how she would have reacted. She might have risked to blow her cover.

"Look," Ted finally said, quietly. His tone indicated that he wanted to make peace. "Far be it from me to tell you who you can and cannot help – and I know you're still mad about the Deadshot incident -" Here, he paused for a moment as a flash of that irritation made its way onto Laurel's face. "If you want to try to... help him, I will support you. We are in this as a team, but I also want you to remember that this guy has put people in the morgue already and, whatever triggered his crusade, I don't think he's done. I want you to remember that. I want you to remember that he's ready, willing and able to use lethal force. He's dangerous; never forget that – for your sake and his!"

A tentative smile blossomed on Laurel's face. She nodded softly to show her assent, then shifted on the chair to move closer to Ted. Without a word she gave him a hug. She buried her head in his shoulder and allowed a single tear to slip out. She had been so worried, so worried to lose his support over this constant issue of her tentative camaraderie with the green-clad vigilante. She knew Ted disapproved of her attempts to gain his trust, to grow closer to him, knew he didn't understand what she saw in the other man. To him the hood was definitely an executioner and nothing more. To be honest, Laurel herself wasn't quite sure what she saw in the archer, but his willingness to compromise with her after two days had sparked something in her and whatever it was, she needed to pursue it. For his sake as well as for her own peace of mind. Peter Declan's case had further proven her point. He'd been so intent to save an innocent live... He could have just taken out Brodeur, but that wouldn't have saved Declan from the lethal injection and he cared enough to contact her to fight for Peter Declan's life. Just like he wore a hood to protect those whom he holds most dear from retribution and, she guessed, from his own sins.

"We need to find those bank robbers," she announced as she pulled away. "They're not done and if they were willing to take a hostage this time and shoot a cop the last time, I dread to think what they'll do next."

"Yeah, it was a bit of a surprise when that woman attacked you. I thought she was a hostage too. Instead she is their inside woman and it got me thinking. I went through the files your father forwarded to us again and realized that she had been the one to alert the Royal Flush Gang of the cop's presence. That's what got him shot and beaten."

He turned toward the computer in front of him and pulled up a picture. It was the imprint from where the hospitalized cop had been hit.

"I hadn't paid much attention to her the first time around – my bad, I thought she was just a scared hostage. This time I went back through the footage the police got from the bank."

"But I thought they'd destroyed the camera."

Ted grinned.

"They did, but they forgot to wipe the footage from before they entered the bank. The woman came in about ten minutes earlier, probably to do a final assessment on the bank's security and so as not to give in the eye by turning up right before the robbery. She was waiting in line in front of the cashier and the camera caught a decent picture of her," Ted explained, pulling up a black-and-white, slightly pixelated picture of the woman from the robbery. "I ran that through a couple of databases, cause I couldn't be sure where she's from. Turns out, she lived right here in Starling. Meet Amanda Reston; her husband worked in the Queen's factory in the Glades before it closed down five years ago. Using a clause in the workers' contracts Queen Consolidated even managed to weasel their way out of paying them severance packages. The Restons lost their house within the year. They were not the only ones, but they were the only ones who disappeared off the grid afterward."

Laurel raised an eyebrow. She quickly looked over the information Ted had compiled. Derek, Amanda, Kyle and Theodore Reston. Immediately following the loss of their house, Amanda quit her job as a nurse at Starling General, the teenage sons dropped out of school and the whole family disappeared. A missing person's was filed for each of them by a Brian Harker, another former employee at the factory and probably friend of the Restons. He supplied the police with pictures of every family member that were added to the file, though the police obviously had copies of their passport and driver's license photos. He must have been terribly worried, Laurel concluded, but unfortunately the police never found any trace of them. Until now, that was. She looked over the list of other banks robberies associated with the Royal Flush Gang.

"Look at that," she told her partner, pointing at the screen. "Coast City, Central City, Gotham City, Opal City, Dos Rios."

"All the places they robbed, so?"

"All these places are as far from Starling City as can be."

"Like they were trying to avoid it...", Ted mused with her. He gave her a look. "Then why come back?"

"A last hurray? End of the line," Laurel suggested.

Ted grit his teeth.

"Then it's probably a good thing that you got Queen out of there when you did. I can't imagine they chose him as hostage at random."

"You think they would have hurt him?" Laurel swallowed uncomfortably. They had never hurt anyone before the other day. They hadn't gone after the Queen family either, but it was possible that they had made their peace knowing that Robert Queen had died and the surviving members of the family suffered just as much. The family might have even considered the tragedy of the Gambit to have been an act of poetic justice. Oliver Queen's return could have triggered an irrational surge of resentment and a thirst for vengeance. Ace, probably the older brother, had proven himself capable of violence. Would he have killed the Queen heir once he and his family had made it to safety? Would the family have allowed it to happen, even approved? Similar thoughts seemed to run through Ted's head, because he said out loud what Laurel was afraid to even think.

"He is the son of Robert Queen and the only one who made it back from the yacht. If they're looking for a scapegoat, they might be looking at Mr Queen."

There was a moment of silence, before Ted spoke again.

"Is this when we address the elephant in the room?"

Laurel looked past him at the far right monitor where a news story was flashing across the screen about the new club Verdant that was set to open in a little while. She sighed quietly. It wasn't that she had deliberately avoided it, but she wasn't exactly keen on this conversation either. Even though he seemed more sombre – at least when he talked to her – than the reports from the paparazzi made him out to be, she had a hard time reconciling the image of the playboy billionaire with the suspicion that Ted and she herself nurtured.

"It must have occurred to you," Ted went on. "The timing is too perfect."

With a sigh, Laurel let herself fall onto the chair beside him.

"Yes, exactly, too perfect. If you had just returned from five years on a desolate island with some agenda to start a crusade on crime, would you be so foolish?"

"I never said he was smart; I said he was dangerous."

Laurel glared at him.

"Look, let me say what we're both thinking: it makes sense. He was alone on an island, he must have learned to hunt. What else would he have lived off; berries and roots?!... Then he returns and not a week later, a green-clad killing machine makes his debut. Green is not exactly camouflage in city streets, but it would blend in perfectly in a jungle environment."

"I agree."

"And you can't count his past reputation. Five years on an island would- wait, what?"

"I said I agree. The coincidence is suspicious, except for one thing: the bow. What, did they have a sports gear shop on Lian Yu?", she asked sarcastically, then held up a hand when Ted was about to protest. "If you're about to say that he could have made it himself, don't. Where would he have gotten the tools or the skill for that matter? I don't know much about bows, but I know you can't just use any old wood. And what about a string. Barring artificial ones, I think you'd need to use animal sinews. They need to be long enough too. Again, where would he have gotten the tools or the skill?"

"If he was alone," Ted interjected. "His word is all we got for that... Eighty per cent of his body is covered in scar tissue. Where did he get all those scars?"

"Living in a desolate place, learning by doing how to survive on his own and with no access to medical assistance or supplies, I'd be surprised if he didn't have scars."

"But eighty per cent, your honor?"

That earned him another glare.

"...I know. I'm not saying it's not suspicious or that we shouldn't investigate, but I'm not starting a witch hunt based on circumstantial evidence. All we really have is the timing, and, while suspicious, it could just be a coincidence. When I started; if you look hard enough, you'll probably find it coinciding with something of relevance."

"So we dig deeper. Let's see if we can find out where Oliver Queen was every time the Hood turned up. If we can prove even once that he was somewhere else, it isn't him, but if we can't..."

"Then Mr Queen will get a little visit from a bird of prey."

"If it is him, cornering him could be dangerous."

"Hmm, but he'd want to stay calm to throw me off. Unless I got a picture of him in costume, I don't think he'd want to reveal himself."

Ted said nothing to that. He wasn't sure he agreed, but he had to trust her instinct and he knew she could handle whatever Queen would throw at her.

"Try to get his medical records as well. The doctors' might have made note of what they think caused his scars."

"The hospital should have an electronic copy, but... I'm not exactly a hacker," Ted admitted. After a moment of thought he smirked evilly. "I think I'll need to delegate that to our friend in Gotham."

"Friend is saying a bit much... Don't you think he'll just get annoyed?"

"He's always annoyed. Besides, I can always tell him you'll scream his house down if he refuses."

Laurel rolled her eyes, but her gaze, like Ted's, fell on the little sonic bombs that lay neatly stacked in a nearby shelf. After the deadshot incident, they'd adjusted them somewhat, but they still hadn't been able to see if it had had the desired effect. If nothing else, they could suggest testing those if Grumpy, as Laurel liked to call Ted's friend (sort of), decided to be a pain about their request.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Queen Consolidated, IT Department)_

Walter entered the secluded office without knocking and closed the door. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the slim blond move to gaze around her computer. The pen she had been chewing on fell from her mouth and clattered onto the floor. Walter paused for another moment at the door, waiting if someone had noticed him come in and followed him. He had thought of summoning Ms Smoak to his office, but decided that, even at this hour of the evening, that would draw more attention that simply making his way to her office. He had even brought his glitchy tablet to give to her to look at as an excuse. When everything remained quiet, he finally turned toward Queen Consolidated's most expert computer technician. She didn't look like much, particularly as she was slowly rising from the floor from which she had retrieved her pen. She waved it in her hand with an uncertain look as if she wanted to provide him with evidence that her dive to the floor had been necessitated by circumstances.

He approached her desk slowly, moving around it and pulled up a chair to sit beside her work station. Ms Smoak instantly planted herself on her chair, sitting so rigidly that she might give a statue a run for its money. There was the slightest tremble in her frame, but not from fear. Walter had been managing personnel long enough to recognize employee reactions and her involuntary twitch seemed more to be about holding something in that threatened to burst out of her at any moment. Maybe a barrage of questions or quirky comments; his head of security, Josiah who kept an up-to-date profile on all employees, had told him she was an odd duck but excellent at any type of research.

"Ms Smoak-", he began, but was immediately interrupted by the technician.

"Look, I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to misappropriate company resources, but, well, I figured what with having given the name to the company – not to mention that it's boldly written all across the building – I figured granted certain benefits about using company resources for one's own purposes. I really didn't mean to get involved in the whole Unidac bidding war, particularly as the building turned into a literal war zone with all those bullets flying aroun- not that I knew anything about that in advance. All I had to go on was a demolished laptop from your rival Patel, and I told – I said I didn't want to end up in a Shakespearean drama about your marriage-"

Impulsively Walter covered her mouth with his hand. Josiah had certainly been right; Ms Smoak had quite a gob on her. He didn't know what to make of the word salad she had just spit out, but clearly someone from his family had used their position to obtain favors from the technician. Favors that ended up being connected to the shooting at the Unidac bidding. His face closed off. He couldn't believe Moira would place him and Thea – and Oliver if he had actually bothered to show up – in such terrible danger. Then again if she had paid to turn the bid into a war zone as Ms Smoak had put it so aptly... Although he couldn't quite see to what end she might have orchestrated something like that and 2.6 million seemed a bit much to pay even for a professional hitman.

"Felicity – is it alright if I call you Felicity?"

She nodded mutely, his hand still covered her mouth. He removed it.

"Start at the beginning, Felicity. What did my wife ask you to do and what did she use the 2.6 million dollars for?"

Felicity shook her head in surprise.

"What would Mrs Queen need 2.6 million dollars for? I mean that's a lot of shopping – not that your wife would use 2.6 million on blouses and pencil skirts... or anything. I mean... uh..."

Walter supposed they could be separate incidents, but if the money wasn't for the attack on the Exchange Building, then what was it for?

"If it had nothing to do with the money, what did Moira want from you?"

"Mrs Queen? Nothing. I've never even met her."

At Felicity's puzzled look, Walter raised both eyebrows. Had they been talking about different things the entire time?

"Wait, you aren't here to chew me out over helping out... Oh, well, then I guess I shouldn't have mentioned that."

"No, I came here so you could quietly trace 2.6 million dollars my wife took from the company to invest in a friend's business." He handed her the documents he'd uncovered so far. "I can't find out what she did with it, but Josiah assured me that you would be able to. Quietly."

Felicity took the documents and gave them a quick once-over. Mr Steele had actually been pretty tenacious in finding that missing money in the last few days, but he had run into several walls or followed red herrings. She was somewhat flattered that he would come to her with this problem – really, she should add personal researcher for the Queen-Steele men to her resume – but it did beg one unfortunate question that made her wonder if she really wanted to ger in the middle of this mess.

"Is there any reason to disbelieve Mrs Queen, uh, Mrs Steele – Mrs Queen-Steele? Did she hyphenate? She looks like someone who would hyphenate-"

"Felicity." His voice caught her to attention.

"Uh, yeah, is there any reason not to believe her?"

"That's what I want you to find out," Walter replied. He waited for her to nod, but stopped her when she moved to turn toward her computer to get started. "But first, back to that incident at the Exchange Building..."

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(CNRI)_

Laurel was busy filing away a few closed cases. She was glad they were finally off her desk and that CNRI had managed to get justice for most of the people involved. She didn't stack the unsuccessful files separately, but she knew every single one by heart. She used them to remind herself of two very important things; first, that you couldn't win every battle, and second, to keep on fighting even when you lost. Sometimes literally, she mused with a smirk, thinking of a few particularly nasty men and women who'd won their court cases, but gotten an unpleasant visit from one of the local vigilantes. She heard footsteps approaching and turned to find Joanna heading straight for her. The look on her face did not promise good news.

"I'm glad you have reached your quota of smiles for today," she said by way of introduction. "Because we have a problem. Stagg Industries has just announced that they're pulling out of CNRI's donor pool."

"What?! But they're one of our major sponsors. I'm not sure we can keep this legal office running without their contributions!"

"We're gonna have to find a way, because they got hit by that Royal Flush Gang's hit on the bank the other day. They had substantial amounts of money there and while the bank will have to fully refund them, that will take time, so they have to pull out on us, and I quote, "for the foreseeable future"."

Laurel groaned softly.

"What are we gonna do? We need another sponsor and quick."

"And until then we need money to keep CNRI afloat. Stagg Industries asked for a refund of their last donation." At Laurel's incredulous look, Joanna raised both her hands in defense. "Hey, I get it, they have to pay their employees... and they want to pay them in full. At least their's is an ethical choice."

Laurel hung her head in shame. Joanna was right. They may have a legitimate need for the money, but so did the company. They had a responsibility to their employees and at least they weren't leaving them hanging in the air. Laurel went through the list of their other sponsors to determine how they could make the rounds and ask for more money. Biting her cheek she realized that they would need to find a new sponsor to take Stagg Industries' place, at least for the time being. Before she could ask Joanna for her input on who to target – because really, that's what it was – more footsteps approached. Heavier than Joanna's, at first Laurel thought they were her father's, but instead she found Tommy Merlyn gazing back at her when she looked up from her thoughts.

"Tommy?", she questioned a bit surprised.

"Hi, Laurel. So, I realized that I never properly thanked you for your help with... the thing the other night that must not be named-"

"You mean when she saved yours and Queen's asses from Fuller's hooligans?", Joanna interjected dryly.

Laurel shrugged at Tommy's shocked expression as if to say 'duh, of course I told her'.

"Yeah, well, so I thought I could take you out for lunch. Even lawyers must eat, right."

Laurel opened her mouth to protest, but Tommy was faster.

"Look, I'm not coming onto you; that's why I said lunch. Nice and neutral, just a thank you," he emphasized, but there was a sparkle in his eyes that made her wait for the punch line. "And if you happen to want dinner and a movie later, that'd be nice too..."

Laurel laughed gently. She knew it.

"You really don't need to thank me. You were in trouble, I could help. It's that simple."

"It really is with her." Joanna rolled her eyes, then turned to Laurel. "Can I talk to you for a second?"

They absconded together into a quieter corner of the office where Joanna proceeded to question Laurel's sanity.

"Weren't you the one to warn me about Oliver? Those two go hand in hand, you know," Laurel deadpanned.

"And I'm not saying jump into bed with him or play house," Joanna retorted, then caught herself with an apology for how harsh that sounded. "Look, he wants to say thank you, lunch really is pretty neutral as far as potential first dates go and his father happens to be Malcolm Merlyn."

"So?"

"He's nominated for this year's Humanitarian Award. Maybe he would be interested in getting more brownie points by helping a struggling legal aid office...," she suggested carefully.

Laurel's face hardened.

"I'm not using Tommy for his father's money," she said between gritted teeth.

"No, of course not," Joanna replied, emphatically. "That doesn't mean you can't ask if he'd think it would be a good idea to ask his father."

"Ask my father what?", Tommy asked them. He'd slowly moved closer when he heard his name being spoken a few times. He had just caught the end of Laurel's angry refusal to use him and had been half insulted at the notion of being used and half flattered that she would so vehemently reject the idea. As he listened in on the reply though, he realized that Laurel's friend sounded seriously worried. She didn't mean any real harm, her shocked expression at Laurel's implicit accusation had confirmed that. There was something sitting on her chest and he could see that it weighed on Laurel as well. Something must have happened before he came in because the two women had seemed a little down in morale when he had first joined them. Now he looked at them with an open expression, hoping to inspire them to confide in him.

"I'm sorry, Tommy. It's nothing, really."

Typical Laurel. He may only have known her for a few days, but even he could tell that. So he turned to her friend, whose name he really needed to catch if he wanted to stay on Laurel's good side. She seemed more willing to discuss the matter and utilize his connections, so it probably had to do with money.

"Stagg Industries, one of our major donors, just pulled out due to the bank heist the other day. They lost a lot of money and need even their last check back to fully pay all of their employees. Most of their other assets are apparently bound up in buildings or machinery and not easily liquidated. Thing is, we can't run this office without their contribution," Joanna explained. "I didn't mean to sound like I wanted Laurel to play the gold digger, but your father is a notable humanitarian in this city and I was hoping you might be convinced to help us request his sponsorship... I am sorry."

Tommy nodded. Personally, he didn't have the best opinion of his father or the other way around, but he knew that Merlyn Global supported several pro-bono projects in the Glades.

"I'll have to think about it. I know dad has Merlyn Global set aside a certain amount of money at the end of each quarter to support humanitarian projects, but I think all of that capital is already bound up in other projects. I'll have to double-check with him, though." He looked back at them. "Does that mean lunch is saved?"

Laurel opened her mouth to offer him to join them at their lunch table; she wasn't in the mood for something fancy now as it would only remind her of their financial troubles. Before she could do that Oliver Queen rushed into the office. He took one glance around the room, spotted them and stalked over to join them. He greeted his friend distractedly, the smile he offered Tommy not really reaching his eyes as his gaze rested firmly on her. Laurel went cold inside, thinking he might have recognized her in the tunnel and had come to confront her about her night-time activities. He looked worried and, thinking back to Ted and her father, she really didn't need another disapproving male to try to talk her out of it.

"I'm sorry for the rush, but can I borrow Laurel for a moment?"

The other two nodded and left to get some coffee. Oliver barely heard them, instead he grasped Laurel's armer rather more forcefully than he had intended and dragged her off to one of the small offices to the side that had a door for privacy. Laurel allowed him to drag her, even allowed his firm, almost painful grip on her arm. Oliver looked like he was in a right state, worried, scared, lost; she couldn't quite place it. Whatever it was that had taken a hold of him, he had chosen to come seek her out. She gulped, not knowing what she would do if he had discovered her secret. There weren't any police officers to arrest her, though, which she took as a good sign. She cocked her head to the side when he closed the door and drew the blinds. Best to go on the attack, she figured.

"I heard you'd been taken hostage. Are you alright? They didn't hurt you, did they?", she asked worriedly and it wasn't only a pretense. While he had seemed physically fine in the tunnel, she had had only a moment to asses his state, really. Then there was Ted's prediction that worried her beyond measure. What if they had come here to take revenge on the Queen family aside from their usual bank heist, right before they disappeared off the grid for a second time. A final time.

"I'm good. I'm fine, but... I met your father there."

Her eyebrows shot up. Now she was worried for an entirely different reason.

"He... said some things that didn't make much sense to me, but sort of explained why he has been so hostile ever since I returned. He basically said I ruined his life, but... I can't recall anything that I have done that might..."

She remained quiet. What had her father been thinking? No, that wasn't fair. His father was still so burdened with Sara's loss. They all felt it every day, but her dad... his was a special hell. Before, when he'd had alcohol to help numb the pain... Now he had to process it all at once.

"I know there are nights that I don't remember," Oliver admitted. "But I can't imagine... Laurel, what did I do to him to make him hate me?"

"Oliver, he doesn't hate you as much as he hates himself. He-"

"Laurel? Please, I need to know."

She sighed. She could feel tears prick at her eyes.

"When you first came to my apartment, I had thought it was over. I had brought you legally back to life; case closed. I didn't expect to see you again. That evening I thought it would keep building up in me until I blurted it out and it wouldn't make any sense to you, but... I wanted to tell you. I know you have a right to know. I know you need to know to understand, but... I can't, I'm sorry."

She made a move for the door. She'd just pried it open, but he held her back. Her hand came up to cover her mouth as if she could hold in the sob that built up in her throat. He let her go like she had struck him at the heart-wrenching sound. God, she hadn't expected this to hurt so much. She knew it would be hard to talk about, but she'd always pictured herself more composed. It had been five years. She had spent all her tears already, or so she had thought. She could see Joanna and Tommy approaching from the other side of the room, both looked worried. She turned quickly to face Oliver, even though by then she was crying.

"Oliver, I'm sorry,. I know you need to know, but this... this I need time for. I need to think how- I'm sorry," she added in a whisper, before she rushed out.

Oliver wanted to follow her, but Tommy's hand on his chest stopped him.

"You really live on an island, don't you?", his friend asked, irritated. "What was that all about?"

"I asked her about her father's attitude toward me and... she just... I don't know."

"So you came rushing in here to corner Laurel because you needed to know something?! You couldn't approach it more delicately? You need to apologize," Tommy concluded angrily, but when Oliver made another attempt to follow Laurel, he stopped him again. "Not now. Now you need to give her space. Let her get her bearings. I'll go look for her."

With that he left his friend standing with Joanna. He only vaguely heard Joanna mention that it was not her place to tell Oliver. When he found her she was sitting on the roof, knees drawn up to her chest and head resting on her knees. Tommy quickly sat down beside her and placed an arm around her. She came willingly when he drew her in. She wasn't crying anymore, but her face was tear-streaked and her eyes puffy. He dug a pack of tissues out of a pocket and handed it to her. She let out a sound halfway between a sob and a laugh, but took the tissues gratefully to wipe her face and blow her nose. Tommy waited till she was done and calmly leaned against his side before he addressed her directly.

"I won't ask you any questions about what happened and I don't need you to tell me anything. I'm just going to suggest lunch at your favorite place again, but this time as an apology for my castaway friend who really doesn't know how to not be an asshole anymore."

Laurel laughed. This time he actually recognized the sound.

"Told you."

"I promise, if he ever does anything like this again, I'll sign him up for charm school."

The solemn oath made her laugh again and this time he cracked up as well.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(The next day; Queen Consolidated)_

A soft knock on the door as he gathered up his coat and suitcase on his way out alerted Walter to the unexpected presence. Looking up, he saw Felicity Smoak stand half-way in the door, a smile so slight it had to be forced directed at him. At his acknowledgement she entered more fully, righting her glasses on her nose and pressing her tablet tightly to herself. Her rigid body language suggested that she was nervous, either still about their earlier conversation regarding Oliver's unexpected, surprising and somewhat alarming acquisition of one of Warren Patel's laptops, or about the favor he had asked of her. He immediately set down his things. A quick glance at the watch told him he would be late for brunch, but the chance to discover what Moira had been so intent to cover up was too important to delay.

"Felicity."

"I'm here to take a look at your computer, Mr Steele. I was told it has had a few glitches," she told him formally and loud enough for his assistant to gather her purpose. Then she approached his computer, reactivating it from the dormant mode he had put it on for his brief absence during the day. He wouldn't stay for the usual conversations after the food had been finished, but Moira had insisted on him attending at least that. He rounded his desk to watch Felicity work as she connected her tablet to his computer and transferred a few files.

"I'm afraid the money Mrs Queen... redirected," the technician formulated diplomatically, "was used to create an LLC called Tempest, but it's bogus. As far as I can tell, that LLC never truly saw the light of day. However, it was used to purchase a warehouse at this address..."

Walter looked from the screen to where Felicity was writing a few lines on a stick-it note. He vaguely recognized the address as being located somewhere on the far outskirts of Starling City and wondered what Moira could want with an empty warehouse.

"That's where the money trail ends, I'm afraid, and it's not very much to begin with," Felicity continued, biting her lip guiltily as if she expected him to get angry or disappointed. "The money that went into the purchase was only a drop of the money Mrs Queen... endowed the LLC with."

"Then what did she use the rest of it for?", he mused allowed.

"Your guess is as good as mine, sir, but..." She hesitated briefly, swallowing with difficulty. "Well, aside from a Shakespeare play, tempest is a synonym for storm."

She left him to ponder those words until she was half-way to the door, then she resumed her role as helpful IT employee.

"Just a program that got stuck running. Should be fixed now, sir. If you have any further trouble, IT is just a few floors down – not that you would have to come in person, you could just call – but you know that, of course."

In true Felicity character. Despite the new, disturbing revelations and the questions that came along with them, it made Walter smile.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Queen Mansion)_

The dreaded brunch with Carter and his mother was as uneventful and as irritating as expected. When his mother had first brought up the idea of inviting their old family friends for brunch, both he and Thea had shared a look. They remembered Carter well enough, but they remembered Moira's swooning over the boy turned man even better. Neither of them wanted to sit through brunch just to have to listen to their mother sing Carter's praises for the next week or so. So, they had both tried to bail out, albeit to no avail because Moira Queen would not take no for an answer from her children. When Walter joined them, asking what the commotion was about, they had turned to him for help, but he didn't know the Queens' tortured past with Oliver's old school companion and so had sided with their mother. The only upside was that, somehow, Tommy had arrived just in time for brunch, Walter had still been missing and his friend had gotten Moira to rope him into joining them. Oliver and Tommy exchanged a bored look for what seemed like the millionth time as Carter referenced his recent book on neurosurgery when suddenly the conversation took an unexpected turn.

"I wish I could do more for the less fortunate, though. I feel it is our duty to help, since we are so blessed, so I thought I could open up a free clinic in the Glades."

Tommy perked up at this rather noticeably.

"My lawyers are all over it, of course. Calculating the cost versus possible tax benefits," Carter continued, no doubt about to launch into another monologue of self-praise when Tommy interrupted him.

"Actually, I'm pursuing a similar goal," he announced to an astounded audience. Even Oliver looked at him slightly off, not sure if his friend was alright.

"You're going to open a free clinic," Thea teased. "You might wanna get a medical degree first."

The table chuckled.

Tommy put down his fork and dabbed at his mouth with the napkin before continuing. He wasn't the only one who ignored his salad in favor of this sudden turn in the conversation.

"Not quite, Speedy. A friend approached me yesterday. She works at CNRI – the free legal aid office in the Glades?", he said by way of explanation. As everyone nodded that they knew the office, Oliver felt a clot form in his chest. "They recently lost their most important donor, Stagg Industries, due to the bank heists and now they are in need of quick, financial support. My first idea was to talk to my father, but unfortunately, all of Merlyn Global's assets reserved for charity work are already assigned and without that money CNRI might have to close its doors."

The pang grew into a dull ache. He had been at CNRI yesterday, no doubt interrupting the very conversation Tommy was alluding to. He should have seen the worry creasing Laurel's face; in fact he had seen it, but he had been so consumed by his own worries that he had not bothered asking about them. She was supposed to his friend, a new friend perhaps whom he had only seen a few times, but she was supposed to be able to confide in him. She had been able to confide in Tommy. Now he couldn't help but think that his pushiness and near hostility had exacerbated whatever worries she already had in addition to the mysterious back story that connected their families somehow, leading to her unexpectedly bursting into tears. He hadn't felt so gutted since Laurel had flinched away from the vigilante, regretting their association. Now he had failed her as Oliver Queen as well.

"That's terrible," his mother was commenting on Tommy's announcement.

"Yeah, it can't happen. That's part of why I came here today, actually. While I enjoy the luncheon, I kinda came here to solicit you for money."

"Yes, of course, let me get my checkbook," Moira was saying, but Tommy held a hand up to stop her.

"No, no, not like this. Thank you, Mrs Queen, but I think we need to get more people together and get them to donate all at once."

"You mean like a fund raiser?", Thea asked.

"Yes, exactly. We just don't have anywhere to do it."

"Well," Oliver interjected. "The club isn't open yet, but we could use that. It has a large open space, enough for more than a few of our... blessed friends and their checkbooks." He nodded to Carter and the two shared a rare smile.

"We'll be there, of course, just tell us when and where," his mother immediately agreed.

"I thought about it, but the fact that it isn't open yet means that we can't really have that many people there. It isn't insured."

He knew he shouldn't, because Tommy was right of course, but Oliver felt a little slighted.

"We are," a new voice spoke up. Walter came into the room with quick strides, quietly apologizing to Moira for having been held up at the office. He took the last open spot at the table, opposite Oliver. "Sorry I'm late. There been some unexpected developments at Queen Consolidated. I needed to rearrange a few meetings."

He looked around the table with almost excessive cheer for his usual self.

"So, we're having a party, I gather?"

"We were discussing throwing a fund raiser for CNRI. Ms Lance's pro bono legal aid office," Moira explained. "It was Tommy's idea, but he lacks a space to invite the guests and naturally thought of us."

There was slight teasing in his mother's voice and Tommy had the decency to blush.

"Only with your permission, of course. I mean we could flaunt all regulation and have it at the club; it would certainly not be the first time and it would mean good publicity."

"Nonsense, of course you'll have it here," Moira replied with a chuckle. "I'll get the invitations sent out immediately and inform our usual caterer. They could get it done for tonight."

"Isn't that a bit early; maybe people have plans," Tommy suggested carefully.

"Ah, you're forgetting, we're the Queen family. If we call for a fund raiser, they'll throw aside their plans just to avid being the only ones not showing up for charity," Thea told him proudly.

"Guests of the Queen family twice in a day is a true honor," Carter added cheesily. Oliver gave him a wan smile for the effort.

"Sounds like a plan," Walter concluded.

He raised his glass and everyone toasted to the plan. Before the happy family brunch could resume, though, John Diggle walked into the room with a serious face. The mood became immediately quietened and even before Diggle reached him, Oliver forcefully smothered a grimace. His eyes had automatically fallen on his mother who had given him the briefest, but most disappointed look of his life. Then Diggle leaned down to murmur into his ear and Oliver had half a mind to ignore whatever it was he said, except that he mentioned his club's liquor supplier. That meant he had located the old drinking joint of the factory workers and his sources in the Glades. There was a chance that Derek Reston still frequented that bar and Oliver was loathe to let an opportunity to right his father's wrongs go by. He got up, ready to excuse himself from the table, but his mother merely waved a hand and sent him off. She didn't even look at him, while Thea glared at him – probably for abandoning her at Carter's mercy – and the look Walter was giving him was downright confusing. It was calculating in a way Oliver had never seen his stepfather regard anyone as if he were measuring Oliver.

Fighting down another grimace, he stood somewhat undecided for a moment. He didn't want to disappoint his family and certainly not hurt his mother to the point she couldn't even look at him, but ultimately he shifted uncomfortably away from the table and followed Diggle into the hallway. They stopped briefly for Diggle to hand him a small mechanic device he had brought from the lair, a bug Oliver intended to plant on Reston if he met with him. Oliver took it and went to gather his comfortable brown leather jacket. There was no need for the vigilante in this encounter with Reston; this was something he needed to do as Oliver Queen. So instead of doing a pit stop at the hideout, he took his bike directly to the Glades bar Diggle had indicated. It didn't look like much on the outside, but that was not unusual for the Glades. It wasn't far from the factory he was converting into a nightclub and he could see why the workers might have liked to hang out there. The bar was larger on the inside than it first appeared and, though a little dark perhaps, almost cozy. It oozed an intimate setting that the coworkers and friends would have appreciated. Oliver spotted Derek Reston without much trouble but coursed quietly when he saw Kyle Reston was with him. He approached the duo anyway and sat down at there table without hesitation.

"You!", Kyle was immediately hostile. "What are you doing here? Who told you you could sit?"

"Kyle," his father admonished, for which Kyle threw him a nasty look, but kept his mouth shut. Derek refocused his attention to Oliver. "This is not a place I would have expected Starling's Golden Son to turn up in."

"I came for you," Oliver told him directly.

Both sets of eyebrows on the Reston men shot up at that.

"When I was on... the Gambit, my father told me that he wasn't the man I thought he was. That he had made decisions he regretted, decisions that had hurt a lot of people," he explained calmly. "So, when I got back I did some digging. I found out what happened at the factory my father closed and how he treated his employees."

"As if we'll believe that you didn't know the cushion of privilege you were raised on was bought with the blood of people like us, Queen," Kyle spat hatefully. Oliver ignored him. There was no chance he could convince Kyle, but his father seemed like a reasonable man. At least he hadn't burst out into hate speeches so far.

"Then you know I was the foreman of that factory. Last time I saw your father was in my office when he told me he wouldn't close down the factory or fire anyone. That was a week before we turned up for work to find closed doors."

Oliver looked down at the table, ashamed for his father's actions.

"They hadn't even told us. Your father had lied to me and he even found a way to get out of paying us the money he owed us. Many families lost their homes, their savings, everything." Derek Reston's voice wasn't one of suppressed anger, which he would have a right to, it was one of defeat. Perhaps that was better, Oliver thought, a defeated man might welcome hope. And hope was what Oliver had come to give, however feeble an attempt it was to make up for what had been done to them.

Oliver took a deep breath.

"I can't undo what happened, but I can do something for you now," Oliver offered. He took the older Reston's surprised look as a good sign and continued. "I can offer you a job at any Queen Consolidated subsidiary. One call from me and you can start tomorrow. And if you know of any other families of the workers who need help, that offer stands for them as well."

At that point Kyle obviously couldn't keep himself in check anymore. He stood up with such a ferocity that the table shook and the chair fell over. Oliver looked up at him calmly, but the younger man's face had turned into a feral mask.

"You think wed accept charity from the son of the man who stabbed all of us in the back?! How dare you?", he questioned loudly enough for the whole bar to turn their attention on the trio. "You arrogant sod; think you can just waltz in here and use your daddy's money and reputation to buy us off! Fuck off!"

Oliver closed his eyes briefly. He got up to leave, but approached Derek Reston one more time, leaning in closely to create an air of trust and to drop his card on the table in front of him with one hand and with the other put the bug into Reston's jacket.

"Neither of us can go back in time, Mr Reston, nor can my father who regretted what he'd done at the end of his life and given an opportunity would do all he could to make this right. That doesn't mean we have to continue to pay for his mistakes."

After he left, Kyle remained standing a moment longer before angrily righting the chair and slumping back down on it. He turned his head several times between the door and his father's face with incredulous rage still showing clearly on his features. He gritted his teeth, sure now that he should have just shot the pretty boy bastard when he had the chance in the tunnels.

"Can you believe him?!"

"He was trying to make amends."

"Amends?", Kyle snorted, not believing what he heard. "There are no amends to be made. You were fired; the entire factory staff-"

"That's not Oliver Queen's fault, Kyle. He's not his father," Derek told his son emphatically. He lowered his voice drastically for the next part. "And I'm still not okay with the stunt you pulled yesterday! You can't just go around taking people hostage..."

"He's just as bad as his old man; they all are. They deserve to pay."

Derek shook his head slightly. There was no talking to Kyle sometimes.

"Maybe it's time to stop," he suggested. "After all, we've got a good amount. Enough to start over."

"I didn't give up my life to start over – we said we wouldn't stop until we were settled for good," Kyle protested quietly, but acerbically. "And we're so close! Isn't that what we came back for? Back to Starling where it all started?"

"Kyle, this city is too dangerous now. After your stunts with the police officer and Queen, the police will be gunning for us. And what about those two vigilantes? The woman broke your brother's nose and threw your mother to the ground! Who's to say it won't be worse next time?!"

Kyle's face was a storm.

"We agreed, and I'm not gonna settle for second prize. I'll do it alone if necessary, but I'm pretty sure Teddy will be with me on this one -" Which meant their mother's support as well. She'd never abandon her two boys. Derek felt a sense of despair take a hold of him. Queen's offer was good, better than the very real alternative of crossing off with the police and the vigilantes. From what he'd gathered, they'd only met the nice one so far. The other was a killer... "- unless..."

Derek's ears perked up. An out?

"I'm willing to quit early, if we go for the real culprits," his son suggested darkly, ripping Oliver Queen's card apart.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Queen Mansion)_

"Can you hold a charity event when the person whose charity you're holding it for isn't there?", Tommy asked as he stood beside Oliver while they both watch Laurel hasten through the Queen Mansion's majestic double doors. They had been in the foyer most of the evening so far, greeting guests as they arrived and directing them to the house's very own ballroom, then just to wait for Laurel. They looked on in astonishment as Laurel hastily navigated various security officers, coming to an abrupt standstill only in front of the two friends. Two members of Diggle's security detail were in irritated pursuit as she had gracefully danced around them, but Oliver held up a hand to signal them to let her be. Then he refocused his gaze on the young attorney who had her hands on her knees to catch her breath, but still had enough energy to glare up at Tommy for his remark. "And please tell me there's a dress in your enormous duffel bag somewhere... Delightful as you look in work out clothes, I think you might feel a little under-dressed in this crowd."

"That's what you get for not warning me more than a few hours before the fund raiser – which I didn't even agree to – that I am to make an appearance. I came straight from training," she told him off decidedly.

Oliver's throat constricted as he thought back to the events that had led up to her no doubt rigorous new self-defense training regiment. The night at the prison still did not sit well with him, but he had briefly forgotten it over the torment of his own mistreatment of Laurel. He was about to suggest that they could ask his mother or sister to lend her something when Laurel fully regained her breath and straightened herself up to continue.

"You're lucky you're so pretty, Merlyn, and that you're doing this for CNRI," she informed them. "And that I know how to multi-task."

She turned her head slightly to look beyond them as she spoke. Turning around both men noticed Laurel's coworker Joanna de la Vega approaching them. She moved past them for a moment to retrieve a suit bag from the cloakroom before she joined them.

"Of course there is a dress," Laurel was saying as she took the suit bag from her friend with a grateful smile.

"Then what's all that for?", Tommy asked, gesturing at the excessively large duffel the attorney was carrying around.

"It doubles as her purse," Joanna joked, earning a chuckle from them. "No, seriously though, do you take your own work out equipment to Ted's? I thought that's what a gym is for."

So that was who Ted was. The reference hadn't quite made sense to Oliver the other night at Iron Heights, but now it became clear. Ted must be her instructor.

"Well, my regular clothes are in there right now and later it will have to fit the suit bag and my sports wear. You included shoes, right?"

"I even included some jewelry and a hair brush," Joanna answered a little affronted as she pulled out an elegant, simple set of gold earrings and a matching necklace from her clutch. Oliver filed the thought that Joanna might have a key to Laurel's apartment away for future reference, but for now he decided it was time to step in. He had held himself in the background thus far due to what transpired the last time he interacted with Laurel; it wasn't something he wanted to hash out in front of everyone. Now, however, Laurel's need to change clothes presented him with the perfect opportunity to whisk her aside and have a brief private conversation with her. He stepped up to the group more fully, making sure there was a friendly, non-threatening smile on his face. He noted that though Tommy and Joanna regarded him with trepidation, Laurel didn't seem overly perturbed by his sudden proximity. He heaved a mental sigh of relief. Perhaps she had already overcome their little incident.

"I can show you to a guest room, so you can change..." He formulated it precisely as a proposition to offer her an out in case she wasn't as calm about his presence as she appeared. Laurel just nodded with a smile and took his proffered hand.

"See you in a few minutes," she said to the other two as she let Oliver lead her away. His grip on her hand was soft and warm, almost like he was afraid to send her flying. She smiled slightly; it was nice to know that he regretted his behavior from last time. She honestly didn't know what to make of hers, though. His request had been straightforward enough and certainly justified. He had a right to know why her father hated his guts so much. And while thinking about Sara still hurt, it wasn't enough any more to send her into tears. Usually. Somehow between everything else that she had going on in her life, CNRI and her extracurricular activities, it had made something burst in her, opening the proverbial flood gates on a jumbled mess of much bigger issues. Laurel had felt herself be pulled under by the onslaught and had reacted in the only way she knew how – run for higher ground.

Her thoughts were abruptly interrupted when she walked straight into his broad back. Disoriented, she took a step back, smiling sheepishly up at him as he turned around to regard her. She had been so caught up in her own thoughts, she hadn't even realized they'd arrived. She let go of his hand, her fingers twitching at the missing warmth, and slowly spun in a circle to take in her surroundings. A guest room, he had called it. It was almost as big as her entire apartment. The generous open space was kept in light green colors that contrasted the rich brown bookshelves, closets, desk and chairs nicely. She dropped her bag without noticing and went over to the floor-to-ceiling window, a small segment of which functioned as a door that led to the balcony. She stepped outside for a moment, pretending to look into the night. Instead she took in the two guards waling up and down the stretch of front lawn directly underneath her room. She might have to knock them out. Or... there was a tree nearby. If she could distract the guards somehow, she could make the jump. Finally, she relaxed for a moment to take in the cool evening breeze before going back inside. When she turned back to Oliver she couldn't help the brilliant smile; it was beautiful.

"My guest room is a closet by comparison," she teased sightly.

"Yeah, well," he smiled. "You can just leave your stuff here when you're done. The key is in the lock on the outside..."

He made his way to leave, but stopped just inside the door.

"I'm sorry... about last time. I was so focused on what I wanted that I didn't consider... I didn't mean to hurt you."

"I... Thank you, Oliver. I'm sorry too. I know you deserve the truth, I was just-"

He held up a hand.

"You weren't ready to share it with me then and you shouldn't feel forced...", he explained. "You tell me when you're ready. I've dealt with plenty of paternal disapproval."

The last was meant to be a joke, but Oliver realized by the stricken look on Laurel's face that it had fallen flat against reality.

"Sorry," he apologized again, even though he didn't know what for this time. "Well, I best... get back to the party, so you can..."

He allowed the sentence to trail off as he closed the door. Hovering outside for a moment, he wondered when he had become so inept at stringing a sentence together in front of a beautiful woman. He had told her a lie, of course. He had no intention of returning to the festivities. Tommy, and Joanna could handle the potential donors. They had the help and support of the Queen family name and most of its members to further their project. Meanwhile, he knew from listening in to the Restons' conversations that they were planning to hit the Queen Mansion tonight. For a moment, he thought the fund raiser might deter them from trying, but instead Kyle Reston had seen it as an incentive, an opportunity to get back at all wealthy families who treated their employees just like Oliver's father had. He made his way into his room, to where he and Diggle had smuggled his vigilante uniform. Securing the door, he made his way over to his closet and dug the gear out. One item brought a small smirk to his face. The mask he had been working on was finally ready for a test drive. He had had to experiment a bit to get it right, so that the mask wouldn't impede his aim or block his peripheral vision, but the extra bit of security in hiding his face had been well worth the wait. He changed quickly into his hunting gear and made his way toward the back window. Looking down, he found Diggle himself patrolling there as agreed and quickly dropped onto the ground beside him.

"Any sign of them?", he asked quietly, making sure to stay out of the light.

"Not so far. Maybe they saw us and decided to rob a bank instead," Diggle murmured back, not without a note of cynicism. Before Oliver could reply, a series of quiet rushing noises filled the air, almost like an arrow finding its target. He and Diggle took note of a few groans and thumps from where the outdoor guards were patrolling, as they pressed themselves in to the shadowy corner of the mansion. A moment later four black-dressed figures with their customized masks rushed out of the darkness of the nighttime garden to storm the house. By the direction they were taking when Oliver risked a glance, he guessed they intended to jump through the windows straight into the ballroom, thus circumventing the rest of the private security force. Once inside with a hundred potential hostages, security wouldn't dare storm or take any other action against them. Oliver rounded the corner to shoot off a single arrow. It embedded itself right in front of Ace's foot, making him stumble and drawing the attention of the entire family. The second arrow, fired in quick succession, disarmed the boy where he stood.

Oliver took the moment of their perplexity to bridge much of the distance between him and the Royal Flush Gang. He felt more than heard Diggle approach with him, gun raised. As they approached Oliver noticed that they were all carrying something that dully reflected the light on their backs. He couldn't quite make out yet, what it was, so he chose to cock another arrow to disarm the younger brother. Of the four family members, they had been the most vocal about getting their money's worth, though only Kyle seemed to have actively delighted in the idea of revenge. Oliver let loose his third arrow, but Jack pulled something over his shoulder that the vigilante now recognized as a riot shield. It deflected the arrow and Oliver cursed internally. He had known Kyle had absented himself from the family for 'preparations' as he'd called it, but he hadn't realized the guy would go obtain extra gear. Being close enough then, he also recognized the tranquilizer guns, probably a concession to Derek Reston who had repeatedly insisted on nobody coming to serious harm.

"This time we came prepared," Jack aka Teddy Reston taunted and ran right into him with his own riot shield. Oliver had to move backward as the other man pushed. Though he had fired another arrow, it too had been deflected. Gritting his teeth, he ducked to grasp onto the lower end of the shield and rip it upward. As it left Jack's midriff unprotected, Oliver turned to move himself inside the shield, grabbing onto the boy's arm to keep it steady and smashing his elbow into his gut. He heard Jack wheeze right next to his ear, extended his arm once more and this time struck him in the face. The shield came loose in the boy's grip and, noticing movement from the side, Oliver took it with him as he twisted away. Immediately, King was on him, placing himself between the vigilante and his son. Even in the darkness and shadowed further by the mask, Oliver could tell that Derek was afraid for his son's life. Something twisted in the vigilante's gut at the sight, rendering him immobile for only a second, but long enough that King's wild swings could knock the riot shield right out of his hands again. Brutally forced to let go, his grip ripped open by the father's strike, Oliver's hand and arm flared up with pain. He grunted at the sensation, trying to blink the tears the pain had sent to his eyes away. A quick shove with King's shield and Oliver fell to the ground. For a moment he was disoriented, shaking his head to clear his vision. He vaguely noticed King approach him carefully and managed to kick the man's legs out from under him when he was close enough.

Oliver vaguely saw Queen look between all the combatants, unsure what to do, aiming her stun gun here or there. Obviously she wasn't confident enough in her ability not to hit one of her loved ones. Diggle meanwhile was confronting Ace, trying to get around the protection of the shield without having to fire his gun. Maybe because he didn't want to alarm the guests, or because he didn't want to shoot the brat or both, he had holstered the deadly weapon again. Thus the fight between the two man was a sequence of dancing around one another and shoving heavily on each other, with Diggle trying to maneuver his hand over the shield once to get to Ace's eye. Ace ripped the shield up so quickly, Dig had to take a step back and cradle his arm against his chest as the shield had raked against it. Finally, Dig kicked at the shield to drive Ace away from him, pulled out his gun and shot at the leg area. The shield didn't resist the onslaught from the bullet, but either it was strong enough to deviate its course or Diggle hadn't aimed specifically at the body part, perhaps intending to scare Kyle Reston rather than hurt him. The shield hadn't broken, though it had been penetrated and Ace wildly swung it at his partner to knock the gun out of Dig's hand. Queen also seemed to have decided where to focus her attention because she pulled forward her own riot shield.

Together with her eldest, she moved against Diggle, herding him toward the low stone wall of the terrace where they could tranq him without difficult. Once they had him pressed up against it, Ace shifted his position to push his mother away, crushing Dig to the wall by himself. The increased pressure on his chest area had the bodyguard struggle for breath. His arms and legs were stuck even against the weakened shield; he could feel them getting numb and his vision tunneling. If he didn't get to breathe in properly soon, he would be a goner. He saw Oliver try to reach him, but the vigilante was still struggling to get to his feet. He must have hit his head harder than Dig had initially thought when he caught the movement with his peripheral vision. His field of vision continued to shrink as he vaguely heard Queen appeal to her son, screeching at Ace that he was killing Dig. The last he saw this caught even the attention of the father. Then his vision went black. He could feel the muscles in his legs giving in, only the shield holding him upright anymore, and still the pressure would not cease. His lungs were burning, his racing heart was loud in his ears like, screaming for air. Then, all of a sudden the pressure lifted, and Dig crumbled to the ground.

Oliver watched in horror as Diggle lost consciousness with the riot shield still crushing his lung. He barely registered the screams and yells from Amanda and Derek Reston, calling for their son to stop. The mother was even pulling at the shield, but all in vain as the young man was a lot stronger then herself. Ultimately, it was another woman who removed Kyle Reston none too gently from Dig's unmoving form. Coming rushing up from the terrace, Black Canary executed a half flip that allowed her to grasp onto Kyle's shoulders. Then, mid-motion, she moved one hand off his shoulder to twist her arm around his throat. Using the energy of her movement as her feet hit the ground, she pulled him sideways away from Dig and let him go to stumble a few feet away from her. Not deigning Amanda Reston with so much as a look, she immediately set after the son to kick him. Kyle raised his battered shield in time, but the force of the kick still sent him stumbling further. In a rage, Kyle through the riot shield away and came at her directly. Not expecting the full frontal assault, he tore her to the ground with him, closing his hands around her throat. The image too close for comfort, Oliver finally found the strength to get up and fire another arrow. His aim was obviously still off, though, because instead of embedding itself in Kyle's flank, the arrow only scratched across his back. Still, the searing pain as the arrow head tore through even a thin layer of flesh distracted the man long enough for Black Canary to grab hold of one of her batons and smash it into the side of his face. With another yelp of pain, her assailant rolled himself away from her. As she got up,

Amanda shoved her to protect her son. Landing on her back again, Canary grunted more in irritation than in pain. Clearly, she had underestimated the strength and readiness for violence of a determined mother. A kick landed in her side and she hissed. A second one followed quickly, but when Amanda hauled her foot back to land a third hit, the vigilante shifted onto one side, using her elbow for support, and struck her upper leg out toward the other woman's shin. Once her leg gave in and brought her down onto the same level as Canary, one foot found purchase on the woman's midriff. Lifting the other over the woman's head to grip her, Laurel twisted her body to make Amanda fall forward, hit her heat and roll across the ground none too pleasantly. Righting herself by rolling backward than pushing up to stand on her hands, Laurel hastily blocked a punch by Kyle, then ducking under the next to hit him in the ribs. Bringing up her elbow from the crouched position, she struck him across the face breaking his nose. The resulting gush of blood trickled across her arm and made Laurel grimace.

Oliver, meanwhile, had his own problems. Though he was on his feet again, the arrow he had fired at Kyle had inflamed Derek again. Despite not being okay with his son's violent temper, he clearly had a strong instinct to protect him. Oliver tried to defend himself, but at first the dizziness increased because he was moving too quickly for his jostled mind to keep up with. While managing to disarm Reston when he dropped his guard to point his tranq gun at him, he barely evaded the repeated strikes with Derek's riot shield until finally he grasped an arrow. He couldn't shoot it directly at Reston as it would never get past his defenses, not was his aim particularly good at the moment, so instead he waited for another attack. When it came, Oliver twisted away a little more clumsily than usual, but managed to stick the arrow into the other man's arm manually. A quick kick sent the man flying.

"Don't pull it out," he warned. "The only thing that hurts worse than an arrow going inside is trying to remove it again. You'll just rip out flesh."

That said he made his way toward Diggle. Black Canary seemed to have the situation well enough in hand to warrant him a moment of checking on his friend. Casting a glance at her continued fight, he noted that she was just hitting Kyle with a crescent kick across the face to put him over the edge. Then Oliver noticed Teddy Reston take aim at her with his tranq gun. He had apparently regained consciousness from his earlier encounter with Oliver. His aim couldn't be trusted at the moment, so instead he chose to rush Teddy Reston. Slamming into his side sent them both toppling over. The impact and the rapid fall made blood rush to Oliver's head, making him dizzy again. Teddy easily threw him off in his state. The bank robber kicked him in the gut for good measure. Due to their position on the ground it wasn't very powerful, but it was enough to make Oliver chortle. Raising himself to his knees, Teddy struck Oliver once, twice, before fixing both his hands around Oliver's throat and squeezing. Oliver's knee came up against his back to dislodge him at the same time as a small, heavy boot shoved him unceremoniously off of the hooded vigilante. Teddy rolled away, letting loose a few undignified noises, as Black Canary kneeled down beside him.

"Are you alright?"

Instead of an answer, Oliver tried to get himself up, but the quickness of his motion only intensified the buzzing sound in his mind. He felt like his head was packed in cotton. Thanks to his repeated interference when he should have been resting his head injury, his senses were near totally muted, except for that incessant buzz that badgered his brain like a hive of hornets. He vaguely realized that her hand was squeezing his shoulder and that she was talking to him. At least he thought she did, because her mouth was moving, but he couldn't focus. Then, unexpectedly, she raised her arm in a protective motion, just before a riot shield could crash into her face. It still send her flying backward. He tried to get up again, rolled onto his stomach to raise himself onto his hands and knees. Just as he did that, he saw a shadow looming over him. Teddy Reston was raising the shield to smash it into his head or back. Oliver switched positions again to kick up as the shield came down when a shot rang out clear across the field. The sound pierced the preternatural quiet that had engulfed his senses, making him turn rapidly around just as Teddy crumbled in on himself, a gurgling noise escaping from his throat. There was an anguished cry from the side; Oliver could see Derek Reston shuffle toward them, but it was the Hood who caught the boy before he fell to the ground.

A quick glance backward revealed a reawakened Diggle as the shooter, just putting down his gun and letting his head fall back against the wall. Black Canary was the next to reach them. She took the boy from him and, as gently lowered him to the ground, his blood flowed freely over her arms and into her black ribbed shirt. She tore a piece of the boy's own shirt off as Derek stumbled toward his son. She lay the boy down onto his side and inspected the wound. The bullet had pierced his side just below the armpit and was bleeding profusely. The raspy sound of Teddy's breath meant that the lung had been torn and blood was leaking into it. Canary placed the cloth over the wound to apply pressure and looked up at him. They both shook their heads minutely.

"No, no," Derek cried as he watched the exchange. "Not my little boy, not my boy... Teddy, please..."

The commotion had roused the other two members of the Reston family, who came hastily stumbling forth to surround their boy. The Hood and the Canary both moved backward to give the family some space, leaving Derek Reston to apply pressure to the wound. The family was distraught; there wasn't a dry face among them when they shed their masks.

"The shot will have been heard," the Canary told them quietly, risking a glance at the ballroom where she could identify masses of guests crowded around the floor-length windows. "Someone will have called the police. Paramedics are on their way."

"They won't make it in time," the Hood deadpanned. He didn't believe in giving anyone false hope. "I'm sorry."

"NO!... No, come on, Teddy," Kyle demanded, pleaded, begged. "You can't die here. We gotta go to Mexico. The beaches and the girls – all the plans we had, remember? You're not gonna miss that, are you?... You can't die! It's all my fault; it was me! You can't, you can't!"

Teddy managed a bloody smile, but the rattling in his breath had increased. His body began convulsing almost immediately afterward, jerking uncontrollably until suddenly it stopped.

"No, no, Teddy, please no." Prayer and pleading were accompanied by wailing as the family mourned the loss of their youngest. Both vigilantes looked on a moment longer, but when sirens could be heard approaching they knew it was time to leave.

"Come on, we better go," Canary whispered, catching his gloved hand as she led him away. As the sirens grew louder, the two vigilantes made their escape around the house and into the forested area where they would be out of sight for a precious moment longer. There was an uncomfortable silence after the recent tragedy while they both caught their breath. Finally, Black Canary attempted to return to some semblance of normality, even though it felt cheap and callous. She couldn't stand this silence.

"I don't suppose you've got a cloth or something on you, do you?", she asked, vaguely gesturing at the blood on her arm. He inspected it carefully for a moment, but she didn't seem injured. "It's Kyle Reston's. I crushed his nose with my elbow."

He looked at her.

"The boy just died, I don't want his brother's blood on me," she said by way of explanation.

He just kept staring. Only now he realized that her arms were bare because she wasn't wearing her usual leather jacket.

"Where's the rest of it?" He gestured vaguely to her uniform.

"At the cleaners," she deadpanned. She hadn't bothered to put the jacket on when she realized the attack was already going down.

 _Right_ , Oliver thought. _Ask a stupid question, you'll get a stupid answer._ He quietened. Though there should be a million things to discuss, there didn't seem anything more to say.

"You didn't mean to let it come to this, did you?", she asked. "That poor boy; you were as horrified as any of them. You... regret what happened, don't you?"

There was a vague note of uncertainty in her voice that pulled at something in his chest.

"No one was supposed to die. Certainly not for me, certainly not that kid... They are just a family down on their luck since Robert Queen abused their trust and fired Derek Reston. There are hundreds of families like that in Starling-" He interrupted himself; there was nothing he could say. Nothing that would make this alright.

"Not all of them turn to crime," she told him.

"All the same..."

"He was aiming for your head. He would have killed you."

"That doesn't actually make me feel better."

"Then be better," she said simply. No directive, no challenge in her voice, no direct relation to their previous conversation, but just a statement. He could take it or leave it. He had no doubt which she'd prefer. It was what she had wanted from him from the start, he guessed, and, when he compromised with her, he thought maybe a part of him had wanted that too. At this point, he didn't know what he wanted anymore. Maybe things would be clearer tomorrow.

"You know, we gotta stop meeting like this." When she spoke again , she was several feet away as if she had been about to leave.

Against his will, this won a ghost of a smile from him. Instead of answering he threw her something from his pocket. He'd been carrying that around with him since his unsuccessful attempt at locating her when he needed her help with Brodeur's case. It had worked out in the end, but his inability to find her had nearly cost Laurel her life.

"I'd tell you not to bother trying to trace it cause you'll never get past the encryption..."

She waved the phone at him.

"But you know I'll try anyway."

They shared a chuckle that made him almost feel normal again.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

Joanna and Tommy were rushing through the Queen mansion in search of their friends. The party had been abruptly interrupted by a single gun shot that had drawn everyone to the windows, only to see the Royal Flush Gang converge around a fallen body. Both of Starling City's vigilantes stood nearby, watching the scene. Joanna had been the first to call the police, even before seeing what was going on, then she'd grabbed Tommy and gone in search for Laurel. She figured Merlyn knew the house and his friend Oliver Queen better than her, so they could find them both together. Currently, Tommy was leading her straight to the other wing of the mansion. He stopped in front of a pair of double doors that looked exactly like all the other expensive, real wood applications in the house, but Tommy looked sure enough. Joanna tried the handle.

"It's locked."

Tommy banged on the wooden door.

"Laurel? Laurel, are you alright?!"

They stayed quiet for a moment, listening, but nothing happened. Tommy banged loudly on the door again and this time Joanna joined him, calling for Laurel. Tommy seemed so sure that this was the room Oliver would have led their friend to that Joanna's worry increasingly heightened into all out panic. She called her friend's name over and over.

"Laurel! Laurel, are you in there? Laurel, it's us! Laurel! Laurel..."

"Hey, what's going on," Oliver's voice reached them as he rounded the corner.

"Where were you?"

"I had... uh, company," he answered his friend sheepishly. "I heard the gun shot; what happened?"

"The vigilantes and the Royal Flush Gang had it out on your front lawn, and now we can't find Laurel," Joanna told him impatiently, just as the door opened to reveal a towel clad attorney, hair damp and eyes wide.

"Laurel...?", Joanna questioned softly, while Tommy and Oliver tried to decide whether to enjoy the view and risk a slap or avert their gaze.

"I'm sorry, I... I opted for a shower before slipping into the dress and then- the shot, at the shot, I locked myself in the bathroom, and then I couldn't... I- sorry." The words came out hastily, jumbled from fright and guilt at having abandoned her friends. When Laurel opened her mouth to say more, Joanna stepped up to hug her friend.

"I'm so glad you're alright."

Laurel immediately returned the hug.

"You too. What's going on?"

Joanna ushered her friend back into the room.

"You get dressed. The police is on their way and I think your father would murder these two if he found you in nothing but a towel," she told her friend, jerking her thumb in Tommy and Oliver's general direction. Then the door closed in their faces again.

"First Iron Height, now this. Laurel must think she's cursed," Tommy joked, then sobered abruptly. "She must have been so scared..."

"She was never in any danger," Oliver assured him calmly.

"You don't know that. There were two vigilantes and four armed bank robbers on the grounds. And where were you? Enjoying some 'company'..."

Oliver grimaced.

"Tommy-"

But his friend sighed and raised a hand.

"Sorry, pal, you're right... I don't know why I was having such a go at you." Then he chuckled. "It's not like you would have been much help if they had made it into the house... So, who was she?"

Oliver's answering smile did not reach his eyes.

"Russian model, but she ran off when she heard the shot." He clamped his eyes shut at a sudden bought of dizziness. He raised his hand to cover his eyes while Tommy answered and allowed himself to lean against the wall for a moment. A mistake, as it turned out, because Tommy caught sight of it.

"Ah, some you win, some you lose, my friend... Hey, are you alright?", Tommy asked, going from amusement to concern, patting him on the back. Oliver's smile widened a little with genuine affection. It was good to be home after all, but the smile quickly turned into a grimace.

"Yeah, it's nothing," he bit out.

"Certainly doesn't look like nothing. What, you hit your head on the bed's headboard or something?"

Oliver let out a snort. While it had its advantages when friends and family filled in the blanks themselves, that was truly a ludicrous thought. Tommy laughed with him for a moment, before helping Oliver to right himself when he noticed Detective Lance joined them at a jog. The officer stopped suddenly in front of Oliver and the two men scrutinized each other uncomfortably. Their manner was entirely opposite, though, as the detective fidgeted while Oliver stood so still all his muscles must have seized up. Finally, Detective Lance cleared his throat loudly.

"I was told... chrm... My daughter in there?", he questioned, pointing at the double doors behind Tommy and Oliver. _Figured_ , he thought, when both men nodded. His daughter really knew how to pick her friends. Not one, but two playboy billionaires who like to play hard – their records included drunk driving and drugs, and one very public incident of assault on Oliver Queen's part. After Queen's return from the island, he seemed to have a tighter grip on his life, but something about him rubbed Quentin the wrong way. Now, he was aware his personal opinion would always compromise his judgment when it came to Oliver Queen, but this was beyond what happened to Sara. There was something... off about Queen's aloof manner. The man didn't even twitch under his gaze, he didn't move at all and the only indication of discomfort lay in the tightness of his features. Quentin shook his head free of his thoughts. There would be another time to contemplate how a spoiled, rich brat like Queen managed to creep him out like that.

"It's actually more embarrassing than that," Oliver said, turning to Tommy and returning to their earlier conversation in hopes of breaking the tension. "When we heard the shot, I ran for the the door, but I didn't stand far enough away. When I opened it, I literally banged myself in the head with the door."

Tommy looked nonplussed for a second, then burst out laughing at Oliver's presumed misfortune. Quentin looked between the two buffoons and shook his head again. He left them standing there and went to check on his daughter.

 **End of chapter 4!**

 **A/N:** So sorry for the long wait! I'm scrambling for time to write (something other than my thesis) at the moment, but I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter. I quite liked how it allowed me to twist away a bit from the TV series' storyline for the episode.


	5. Chapter 5

**Guardian Angels**

 **Summary:** AU/ After five years in hell, Oliver Queen has returned home with only one goal – to save his city. Unfortunately, nobody told him he'd have to wait in line.

 **A/N:** I just had to post something before the new season starts. I'm still not sure whether I want to watch it. I mean, I'm sort of glad it will be grittier and darker again, but I'm also still so mad at and disappointed in the show for last season... Is anyone else torn?

 **Chapter 5: Battle Couples (Part I)**

The first time she contacted him, his text alert beeped. He squinted at the screen, four little words glaring back at him. _Meet on the roof_. His head cocked to the side as he puzzled over the message. She wanted to meet him; well, he supposed that was progress as opposed to run into each other at random intervals. Still, she might have been a bit more specific than 'the roof'. A time and specific location would have been nice. Given the lack of information, he figured she meant sometime tonight. Probably as soon as he could make it there. The roof, though, could be anywhere. Either she had a flattering amount of confidence in his ability to solve her puzzle or in their weird connection, or she was just teasing. He kept staring at the screen as if it would magically reveal its secrets so long that Diggle walked up to him to read the text over his shoulder.

"Must be an important roof if it doesn't need description. Otherwise there's millions of roofs in Starling. What, did you propose there or something?", the bodyguard asked him jokingly.

Oliver's ears perked up at that. Oh, well, now it made sense.

"I suppose in a way I did," he replied cryptically, leaving Diggle standing with his mouth open. Oliver hurriedly changed into his gear. He hadn't planned on crossing anyone specific off his father's list tonight anyway, but he had taken to simply patrolling the streets between his hits. It allowed him to become reacquainted with his city and with its criminal elements. After what had happened with the Reston family he realized that, while the names on the list threatened to slowly choke the city to death, street crime threatened the lives of his people more immediately. And he'd also learned that it could directly threaten the lives of his loved ones. If patrolling meant making the streets safer and protecting his family, then he could deal with the distraction from his original plans. Particularly as it interfered only minimally with the time he took to check out his next target, watch their movements and ascertain their security measures, so he could plan his attack in advance.

Grabbing his bow on the way out, he disappeared into the night. He heard the com link switch on when he mounted his bike. Having a partner had proven to have its advantages, even though Dig's most recent brush with death had left him strictly on desk duty for a few weeks, under doctor's orders to take it easy. Still, while it was purely psychological, having Diggle with him, even in an ephemeral way, grounded him. He parked the bike in a nearby alley, and quickly climbed the fire escape ladder attached to the outside of the building. He rolled over the edge of the roof, creeping to the opposite side in a crouched position. He'd specifically chosen a slightly taller building, so he could get a good look at his surroundings before going to meet Black Canary. He may have been bemused by her invitation, but he knew it could still be a trap. Risking a glance over onto the roof of the other building, he saw her already waiting for him. She sat comfortably against the raised wall surrounding the perimeter.

" _Eager, but not stupid,"_ Diggle said in his ear. " _Good, at least the woman hasn't completely shut off your higher brain functions."_

He replied only with stony silence. As he looked on, she raised her hand slightly and waved at him. Oliver's mouth twitched, half in irritation, half in admiration. She had expected his precautions. If it were a trap, he wouldn't see it coming, so there was only one way to find out. Getting up, he took a few steps back, then took the leap running. The moment his feet touched the ground, he rolled forward to cushion the impact. For a moment he held still, waiting in case someone crept out of a shadowy corner suddenly. The roof remained quiet, the shadows remained still. It was not a trap, then. After his momentary hesitation, there came a soft round of applause from the woman, who stayed resting her back against the wall.

" _Showoff!"_ , Dig's voice snorted through the com link.

"Oh, ye of little faith," she mocked him face to face. "If you're suitably reassured that I haven't got a police squadron hiding under a rock somewhere, why don't you come and sit down. There's something I think you might like to see."

" _Oh, I like her...She's got you all figured out,"_ Now Diggle was outright laughing at him.

"Not all," Oliver murmured back irritably, but he approached the Canary anyway to sit down beside her. He left a little space in order to see and prevent any sudden attack, though he doubted she called him here to fight. As he sat down, he set his bow beside his outer leg, out of her reach and comfortably within his, though he let go of it as a sign of good faith. The three parts of her staff were also resting comfortably within their various holsters and the pouch where he now knew she kept her sonic bombs was firmly closed. Nonetheless when she moved a hand behind her back to retrieve something, one hand went automatically to his bow and the other to pick an arrow from its quiver. He was half on his feet already when he realized that she was producing a newspaper.

"My, my, aren't we jumpy," she teased him. "Page three."

He scowled. Not only at her teasing, but also at her suggestion to read the newspaper. Had she truly called him here for something so mundane?

"The phone wasn't for idle gossip," he informed her briskly.

"And I've not used it for that either; there's another case, but this first. Go on, look," she instructed. Someone hadn't been following the news.

He grunted in answer, but snatched up the newspaper anyway. If he wanted to get to the bottom of the actual crime, clearly he would have to humor her first. Not that he could see what could be so bloody interesting about a newspaper edition from several days ago. In fact, it was an evening edition of the Starling Sun from the day after the Queen's charity fund raiser. The fund raiser had not brought in as much as hoped due to the unexpected interruption, but it had yielded enough to keep CNRI afloat for a bit. Oliver planned on making a contribution as soon as he crossed of another wealthy scumbag from the list. He doubted Laurel would approve of where the money came from or how it got to CNRI's accounts, but he trusted her friend Joanna would put her head right on this one. The article, however, didn't talk about the fund raiser. In fact it only mentioned it in passing. The headline that greeted him as he stared incredulously at the paper was far more personal in nature.

 _ **Starling's New Battle Couple**_

 _The Hood and the Woman in Black were seen at the Queen Mansion yesterday night, the site of a Royal Flush Gang heist that proved unsuccessful. Though the SCPD preferred, not to comment, perhaps it is only the timely intervention of these two notorious vigilantes that we have to thank for the prevention of a tragedy at the Queen residence. Having teamed up before to take on criminal activities in the Glades, such as Somers' drug empire and Holder's unsavory real estate deals, the battle couple has established itself as Starling City's most arduous protector. Unconfirmed reports indicate that the Woman in Black followed her partner into battle yesterday evening to stop the approach of the Reston family, aka the Royal Flush Gang, on the grounds of..._

"Am I actually reading this?"

"I know, totally chauvinist, right? I _followed_ you into battle...", she deadpanned.

"That's what upsets you?"

"Hey, I was here first. It would upset you too if you were suddenly cast as some kind of sidekick just because you've got boobs."

He shook his head slightly. As if this wasn't surreal enough, he could hear Diggle's full-blown laughter through the com link. He must have found the article as well, but his reaction was clearly much more positive than Oliver's.

"They think we're a couple."

"A 'Battle Couple', not sure that's the same."

"I think there's only one definition for 'couple' as it's used here in the English language."

She shrugged.

"And that's what upsets you? It was bound to happen. The media sexualize everything..."

"Are you saying it doesn't bother you? You called me a killer, now the whole city thinks you're dating me."

"Well, I can find it irritating or I can find it amusing. In my experience finding it amusing is less irritating," she told him playfully. "More productive."

He couldn't really argue with that, so he decided to change the topic. Throwing the newspaper over the side of the roof without finishing the article, he caught her attention.

"What was the other thing you called me here for?"

Her head cocked to the side.

"That's it? No strategies to combat this blast to your rep?"

"Would it help?"

"Probably not."

"Then let's take the next logical step and...uh..."

"...Yeah, that sentence got away from you, didn't it?"

She didn't wait for a response, instead she stood up and motioned for him to follow. With caution, or at least he liked to tell himself that, Oliver did as she led him across several rooftops to a quiet, disused part of the docks. They picked the tallest building in the vicinity and crawled close to the edge to look down at a nearby almost derelict warehouse. The light was low, but Oliver could vaguely make out a figure on the roof, something bulky in his lap. No doubt it was a weapon, which meant the man was guarding something. He and Black Canary exchanged a look. If they had positioned the man on the roof, they were obviously expecting trouble from the local vigilantes. The cops certainly wouldn't bother approaching from above. Oliver narrowed his eyes, though; there was something off about the picture.

"Seems he got bored," Canary commented quietly as she, like him, took in the man's sitting position leaned against the roof access door.

"What is he guarding?", Oliver asked her. She hadn't actually said a word about what they were doing there on the whole way over. It appeared clear that there was some illegal operation going on in that warehouse – drugs if he had to guess – but Oliver liked to know who and what he was dealing with before jumping into danger. Contrary to Dig's belief, he was not intent on getting himself killed on his crusade, though he had little hope of surviving it. Someday someone would get lucky; he just hoped he will have done enough then to right his family's wrongs.

"I got a tip that there was a drug labs in an abandoned part of the docks. The Bertinelli cartel supposedly runs it."

" _Bertinelli – Italian-_ _American_ _crime family. Head of the operation is Frank Bertinelli. They run mostly drugs and protection money extortions in the Starling's Italian district. Frank Bertinelli and others have been brought up on charges a few times, but nothing ever stuck. Their influence has been waning ever since the Triads moved in on Starling, but still... Dangerous crowd. These guys play for keeps,"_ Diggle summarized briefly. Oliver scowled, looking back at the other building.

"That's not much," was all he said to Black Canary.

"I've been staking this place out for a few nights now, seeing who's coming and going. There's a rotating guard of eight to nine people, including the man on the roof. That's only the people who come and go, though, I have no idea how many are stuck in there and whether they mix the drugs or provide muscle or both," she admitted.

"So you contacted me." It made sense. Taking on nine or more armed individuals was needlessy dangerous on one's own. Oliver gritted his teeth. They didn't have a lot to go on, but he had also worked with less before, and if they entered through the roof, they might be able to observe the actual lab. Scrutinize their surroundings before having a fight on their hands... Oliver's gaze fell back onto the man guarding the roof. One guard was not enough to stop either of them, but he thad to ake the man out from here. Not that Canary would approve. He could hinder him from getting to his weapon while she made the final approach and took him out of commission less permanently than an arrow to the chest would. As he mused, he noticed a minute movement in the man. His body slowly but steadily tipped ever more to the side. The feeling that something was off with the picture increased ten-fold and Oliver's guts clenched in response. "Something's not right."

Black Canary looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to elaborate.

"Did you notice anyone else while you staked the place out?"

"Else? What do you mean? Another cartel member?"

"No, I mean a third party. I don't know, the Triads or the Russians. Someone who didn't belong."

"No, why?"

"Because that man isn't bored, he's unconscious. Maybe dead."

Without further explanation, Oliver stood up on the roof in plain sight of the guard. Black Canary hissed in irritation and tried to pull him back down, but he wouldn't budge. After a moment when nothing happened, she, too, stood up. Oliver threw her a triumphant look, then shot a cable across to the other roof. He positioned his bow to slide across. Black Canary stepped up to wind her arms firmly around his neck and chest and from one moment to the next she was pressed into his back. He had expected it, of course. That was why he had waited to slide across, yet the sudden weight and warmth still took him by surprise somehow. He couldn't feel much through all the leather and it was hardly an erotic embrace, but perhaps the confrontation with the newspaper article made him hyper aware of her proximity. He was glad for the hood now as it shielded him from the additional sensation of her breath caressing his cheek, yet now that he thought about it he could almost feel it like the ghost of a touch. Oliver cursed under his breath; Canary's apparently innate ability to distract him was to the detriment of his skills.

He needed to clear his head, so he quickly got them across to the other roof and untangled himself from her. So it did not seem that he was running from her and to confirm his notion, he strode over to the unconscious man. This close he noticed blood leaking from the man's upper chest. Looking closer he saw the small bullet hole and indicated it to his partner. Judging by the point of entry, the projectile had pierced his lung. The man had drowned in his own blood. Oliver cocked an arrow to be on the safe side and took the lead; no objection came from his scrupulous partner. He let Canary open the door to the staircase, ready with the bow to shoot down any intruder or guard he could find, but all was empty. Slowly making their way down, Oliver heard the soft rasp of metal against leather. Without looking he knew that Black Canary had pulled out to of her combat sticks. The staircase led onto an upper level storage area that led onto a gallery of some kind. As they approached carefully, Oliver noted that the gallery allowed visual access to the lower level. With a glance, the two vigilantes agreed to separate. Two stairways led from the gallery to the lower level on opposite sides.

Coordinating their movements, the two of them descended their respective staircase in unison, weapons at the ready. Meanwhile they took in the scene of overturned tables, dead or unconscious bodies, innocuous looking white powder covering every available surface, spilling out from torn packages and ripped open card board boxes. One part of the wall next to Oliver looked scorched like someone had tried to turn the lab equipment into a weapon. Suddenly, there was a sound, a shuffle behind a wall of card board boxes in Canary's corner of the room. Both he and Canary perked up. Exchanging a look, they began to round on where the noise came from. Canary waited a few moments so he could join her, but just as he closed the last few feet one side of the stacked boxes collapsed on top of him. Vaguely he saw a darkish figure flit across the room, making their escape just as he was buried by the boxes. He heard Black Canary take after the mysterious person, thankfully not stopping to help him .

"Hey, you stay here!", she shouted after the figure even as she followed them. She paid no heed to the Hood's struggle with the boxes. She knew he could take care of himself and imagined he would want her to follow him. He would catch up in only a moment, so instead she jumped over the fallen boxes and followed the figure out a narrow side door onto the darkened back street. Out on the main street, Canary finally got a first good glimpse at the figure and could identify her as a tall, slender woman. Her long hair reached the middle of her back and looked black, but that could be a wig like hers. She was wearing a long dark coat that shimmered a deep purple under the dim, yellowish light of the street lamps. She followed the strange woman down the street, where she turned into another back street. Now Laurel's ears were assaulted with a number of different sounds that her mind sifted through in record time. She recognized the Hood's footsteps thundering behind her, the sound of an engine being switched on just before the woman drove out of the alley on a motorcycle and the sound sirens as several police cars rounded onto the street from behind them. Their tires came to a screeching halt as car doors were thrown open, a myriad of voices calling out to the two vigilantes to freeze and then opened fire anyway.

" _Oliver!"_ He barely heard Diggle call through his ear piece. _"Oliver, get out of there!"_

"Canary!", the Hood called in alarm.

She felt the Hood grab her arm and pull her with him toward the backstreet the mysterious intruder had just left. He led her to the fire escape staircase attached to the side of the house and jumped up to pull down the ladder in one fluid motion. While she made her way up, she vaguely heard him move back toward the entrance to the alley to keep off the police with a few well-placed shots. So long as they thought he would defend their position, they wouldn't rush into the alley, so he exchanged a few back-and-forths with the police, before ducking into the alley for the final time and rushing to join Black Canary on the fire escape. She had almost reached the roof by then and he had to admire her stamina. He felt his legs starting to burn pleasantly as he took two stairs at a time to reach her before the police got suspicious of his absence and rounded the corner. The moment he was within reach, she pulled him up the rest of the way with surprising strength. Together they ran to the edge furthest from where the police were camped and, without thinking about it, sailed across the edge to the next roof and then the next and the next until they had put a suitable distance between themselves and the warehouse. Allowing themselves to catch their breaths, though they were not out of the hot water yet, they crouched onto one roof making sure they could not be seen from below.

"That was close," Black Canary commented worriedly.

" _Are you okay? Both of you?"_ Oliver ignored Diggle's worried questions for the time being. Clearly they were okay or they wouldn't be talking.

"They must have heard about the other guy attacking the drug lab. Someone must have called the cops... maybe he did it himself."

"It was a woman. About my height, Caucasian from what I could tell. Dark hair, probably, purple coat."

"Have you seen her before? Who was she?"

"Beats me," Canary admitted. "As far as I was aware, I'm the only female vigilante in Starling."

The sound of typing came through his comm link. _"_ _I can confirm that; no other vigilante sightings except you two. At least not that I can tell."_

"Well," Oliver drawled. "Now you've got competition."

"Or maybe you do. She kills even more quickly. More indiscriminately. You kill in a fight or when you target someone directly, some big crime boss and let's be clear, I don't approve."

Oliver snorted.

"It is so funny that you think you have to tell me that."

She cast him a glance and it was half glare, half concern.

"Everyone in that lab was dead. Not just the guards, but the people who mixed the drugs too. They might have been slave workers. Call me gullible, but I don't think you would have done that..."

He had nothing to say to that. She was right. He was aware of human trafficking and knew these people were often exploited for criminal activity. He would have concentrated on the guards rather than those who prepared the drugs.

" _Oliver, she's right. Those people didn't deserve to die – even the guards. They should have gone to prison,"_ Diggle piped up in his ear.

"What now?", Black Canary asked him.

"What do you mean?"

"She has to be stopped. For me the only question is, will you help me or hinder me?"

Oliver narrowed his eyes at her. What was she thinking? That he might ally himself with that mysterious vigilante.

"I'll help you."

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Big Belly Burger; the next day)_

"Eww, don't do that, that's disgusting," he complained, only half mocking her. He knew his little outburst had attracted the attention of various other patrons, not to mention the suspicious glance that Diggle's sister-in-law was throwing at him. Nonetheless, he looked on in abject horror as her fingers delicately clasped the single fry and, instead of popping it into her mouth where it belonged, dipped it in her milk shake of all things. He cringed at the creamy sweet and salty combination, but couldn't bring himself to turn away when she happily munched on the soggy piece of fried potato. "That's it; I don't know you anymore... How can you eat that?! It's disgusting!"

"You like Hawaiian pizza?", Laurel asked him in return, once she'd finished happily munching on her food. She met Tommy's suspicious gaze, but her voice had held no anger or malice, so she knew he was mostly just confused.

"Yeah..."

"Then I could make the same argument about fruit not belonging on pizza, yet do you hear me complain?!", she questioned exaggeratedly.

"Well... that's different," he tried again, but she cast him a decidedly unimpressed look. Tommy gulped. "Okay, maybe it is somewhat similar, but... Hawaiian pizza tastes great! While that-"

"Have you ever tried it?"

"Uh, no."

"Then how do you know?", she asked him sweetly.

"I'm not winning this argument, am I?"

"Nope. Remember I'm a lawyer; litigating is my job. Now eat up," she teased him, dipping another fry in her milkshake and holding it out to him to eat. Tommy felt himself between a rock and a hard place. He figured refusing Laurel wouldn't go well and do nothing for his credibility, but he couldn't help but eye the offensive food item with disdain. He couldn't imagine that it would taste even half-way decent, certainly not as divine as pineapple and ham on pizza. He watched as a drop of milkshake gathered at the protruding tip of the fry and dropped unceremoniously on the table. Tommy internally recoiled at the sight, but he had to admit that being fed by Laurel was sort of romantic for the lunch date he had finally convinced her of. He's have preferred a strawberry or dessert though. Pressing his lips together, he was about to make an excuse when her phone rang and Laurel hastily dropped the fry back onto their shared plate, where it contaminated other fries, wiped her hands on the napkin and answered.

"Saved by the bell," she couldn't help but tease first, though. "Hello?"

" _Laurel, it's Ted. I found something on your mystery woman. Can you come by?"_

Laurel cast a glance at Tommy, who was looking in Carly's general direction. Probably to get a new order of fries, the poor thing, she figured.

"I'm kinda in the middle of something," she told him apologetically.

" _Work,"_ he automatically presumed.

"Outing," she corrected without thinking.

" _Oh, that's as good as a date with a recluse like you. Who's the lucky guy?"_

"No one you know and teasing isn't nice. I do go out... occasionally."

" _Joanna dragging you to a speed-dating session doesn't count."_

Tommy got up at that moment, briefly distracting Laurel from the conversation. She glanced uncertainly at him, but his gaze as still fixed in the direction of the counter, so he didn't notice. Laurel followed his gaze to see Carly motioning him toward her from behind the counter. She held something in her hands, a small metallic device that Laurel identified as an old-fashioned radio a moment later. When Tommy reached her at the counter, Carly passed the radio on to him and they presumably listened to an on-going report.

"You're never gonna let me live that down, are you?", she finally answered.

" _Nope!"_

"Well, I gotta go. Something's happened here," she told her friend when she noticed Tommy face grow worried. "I'll get to you as soon as I can. 'Kay?"

" _Better make it quick."_

With that the line clicked and Laurel stood to join Tommy and Carly at the counter. Carly's face looked caught between apologetic and concerned, but Tommy was downright panicked by the time Laurel reached them. She placed a hand on his arm and, noticing the tension in it, realized that both his fists were balled. Frowning she focused her attention on the radio. She could tell by the tone that the report was in its closing lines, but Laurel caught just enough to know what had Tommy so worried.

" _-Mrs Queen is now recovering in the hospital where she was joined by her children, Oliver and Thea, and her husband, Walter Steele."_

"What happened?", Laurel asked quietly.

"Apparently there was a shooting in front of Queen Consolidated," Tommy mumbled. "The man Moira and Walter were talking to – a Paul Copani – was shot down by a motorcyclist."

"And Mrs Queen?"

"Far as they could tell, she just hit her head in a fall." Tommy sounded noticeably relieved at the lack of serious injury, but he was still staring off into space not looking at Laurel. Suddenly, his gaze refocused on her. "I need to go to the hospital. See how she is."

"Absolutely," Laurel agreed. "Do you want me to come with you or..."

"I should let you get back to work. It will be difficult enough to weasel me in there, not being family. I'll let you know immediately." With that, he kissed her on the cheek delicately and stormed off. He hated leaving Laurel like that, but his jumbled thoughts made no sense even to him. All he knew was that he needed to get to Starling General right away and made the journey in record time. On the way he texted Thea to ask which ward and room her mother had been assigned to. Armed with that knowledge he didn't have to stop at the front desk for directions, instead quickly but inconspicuously making his way past it to join his friends. He arrived just in time to witness Detective Lance questioning Oliver on the series of events.

"Witnesses said you left the scene right away, apparently going after the assailant."

"Yes, I... I was hoping to catch the license plate by cutting through the building. To help identify the man," Oliver admitted quietly. Tommy's jaw nearly dropped at the admission. He could see Thea emerge from the hospital room behind her brother and the open resentment on her face was unmistakable.

"And did you?"

"Ah, no... It turns out I can't outrun a motorcycle... Sorry."

"Well," Detective Lance muttered, unimpressed, as he made his way around Oliver to go see Mrs Queen. "We'll find him anyway. Please excuse us."

Before Tommy could do anything, Thea had already rounded on her brother.

"You left mom lying in the street for a car chase?!", the teenager asked incredulously.

"Thea." The admonishment came from Walter, who exited Moira's room to let the police do their job.

"Don't 'Thea' me, Walter. It doesn't matter that you were there. This guy is supposed to be her son! Your step-son, my brother, and he leaves her there in the middle of the street after a shooting?! No, just... No, how dare you?!" Thea got louder the angrier she got. As Tommy approached he could sense all the heads that turned and eyes that widened at the spectacle.

"Thea... I was just trying to help," Oliver murmured, unable to meet her eyes.

"Is that supposed to make it okay?! You left her! You left our mother! Just like you left da-" Thea cut herself off just as Walter and Tommy both called out to her in horror and Oliver flinched violently. She was shaking with anger, but shook her head clear before continuing. "You know, sometimes I wonder who came back from that island. Because it sure as hell wasn't my brother."

Oliver flinched again as she turned around and stalked away.

"Are you alright, Oliver?", Walter asked him gently, a hand on his step-son's shoulder as Oliver moved to lean against the wall.

He didn't answer.

"Thea will come around, Ollie," Tommy promised. "It's just hard for her to accept that her brother changed." And not necessarily for the better. Sure, pre-island Oliver was reckless, impulsive and irresponsible, but he also had a gentleness that this Oliver with all his experiences lacked. On the upside, this Oliver wanted to take on responsibility, even if it wasn't in the form of a position at Queen Consolidated. He was more level-headed and forward-looking. Still, something about this Oliver didn't sit well with Tommy, but he remembered what Laurel had suggested.

"She's right, though. I shouldn't have just left her there," Oliver countered, a hand covering his face. "It's just that... on the island life was always one step at a time: find shelter, find water, find food. If you needed or wanted to do something, you did it immediately, cause you didn't know if you'd be around later to do it. You kept moving or you died. And my actions had no consequences except for myself. I... I don't know... how..."

"Not to be on an island anymore," Tommy finished for him. Oliver looked up with concern, but nodded.

"I didn't mean to hurt her. Or mom."

"They know, Oliver," Walter soothed him, squeezing his shoulder. "They know."

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

Walter leaned heavily against the wall. He felt like all his strength had been sapped from him, ever since he had heard the shot and seen his wife fall to the ground as if in slow motion. She and Paul Copani were tumbling to the ground before he could react. Moira had seemed disoriented and had reached into the air with her frail hand as if searching for him. He had grasped it immediately as he knelt beside her, feeling for all the world as if it were his fault. He had squeezed her hand so tightly it must have heard, but she hadn't seemed to feel it in the shock of the moment. Thinking about it now, Walter cradled his face in his hands. He closed his eyes. He couldn't help but feel responsible. He had given Felicity the job to look into his wife's suspicious monetary transaction and only a few days later, she was shot at in the open street. Walter couldn't help but think the two incidents were related. Why else would Moira go through such trouble to keep the truth from him?

After Felicity had discovered the unfortunately named LLC and the address for the warehouse in the Glades, Walter hadn't known what to do. He had wanted to go and see the warehouse for himself that same night, but brunch and the newly planned fund raiser had put a damper on that. Part of him was glad for the distraction, because ever since the discovery, he had felt sick at the pit of his stomach. Felicity's quip about the name of the bogus company – Tempest, of all things – had stirred an uncomfortable tug in his insides. Every time he thought about it, his heart beat a little faster in fear of what it might mean. His friend's ill-fated yacht, the storm that tore it down. Walter was afraid of what he might find at the address Felicity had given him, so he had kept putting it off. Finally, he had decided to ask Moira about it directly. Confront her with her lie and give her a chance to tell him everything. She deserved that.

He had wanted to broach the subject at lunch today, until Moira had informed him that Oliver would be joining them. She had thought that her son hadn't spent enough time with his family lately and barely gotten to know them as a couple, so she had used all her powers of persuasion to convince Oliver to have lunch with them. Walter had smiled, because it was a sweet thought of her, and to hide his disappointment. Then again, he knew it was time to get to know this new Oliver better. The Oliver who tracked down Felicity Smoak with a computer owned by Warren Patel. Something was off with the lad, Walter knew. Oliver was calmer now, even though he pretended to be the same party boy as before, but when he got himself in trouble, lately he seemed to favor real trouble – kidnapping, the murder series associated with the auction, a bank robbery... Walter felt like he was putting together a puzzle, piece by piece until the bigger picture would emerge.

Sighing, he rubbed the balls of his hands over his tired eyes and looked up. Nope, they were still busy with their private conversation. Looking through the glass at the top of the door, he could tell that Moira was a bit agitated, but tried to hide it. There was only a subtle tension in her as the two of them talked, but Walter knew his wife well enough that he could tell she was nervous. It could have been the near-death experience, but considering her company he guessed it was something else entirely. She did seem generally uncomfortable around the other man, but Walter couldn't quite figure out why. His head was beginning to hurt. First Oliver, now Moira. Everyone in this family seemed to have secrets that needed to be puzzled out. Walter felt he could only concentrate on one of them, though, and he knew which secret was more important to him. So, with another sigh, he decided to get some coffee from the cafeteria and prepare himself to speak to his wife.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Ted's Gym)_

Despite the nagging worry for Moira Queen's safety, the incident pulling Tommy away from their lunch couldn't have come at a more opportune moment. Every time Laurel thought that, she bit her lip feeling guilty for benefiting from Mrs Queen's misfortune. The woman had repeatedly acted as her benefactor in Laurel's career. From taking a personal interest in her time at Queen Consolidated, to offering her a job, to the recent fund raiser she had completely missed. Laurel felt like she should be at the hospital, but the truth was that despite Mrs Queen's support she was neither family nor close friend and really had no business intruding. Still, she made a mental note to contact Oliver later and asking how his mother was doing.

For now, Laurel shook her head free and focused her attention back on the white board Ted had set up before she came. Because it was the middle of the day and the gym was extremely busy with those work-out fanatics who enjoyed spending their lunch break working up a sweat, Laurel had chosen to take the side entrance that led into the storeroom. Instead of taking the obvious door that led to the training area, she had moved an old shelf out of the way. It was attached to a fake bit of wall and gave way to the staircase that led into the cellar where Ted's old lair from his Wildcat days had been reactivated for the Canary Project. She had found him standing in front of a white board plastered with pictures of well-dressed men, crossing out a few after checking on a document.

Ted had heard her approach and turned to look at her.

"Hey, what was the name of the guy shot down at Queen Consolidated?"

"Paul Copani and hello to you too," she told him matter-of-factly. She crossed her arms in front of her as she approached, while Ted gave her an apologetic grin. As she drew closer, Laurel saw that the pictures were ordered in a pyramid model. When she read Frank Bertinelli's name at the top of the diagram, she realized that it was as accurate a rendering of the Bertinelli syndicate as they had at their disposal. A glance at the nearby work desk and the list in his hand told her that he had gotten copies of reports and pictures gathered by the police. Her father must have brought them around recently, probably shortly after Bertinelli's people started dropping like flies. Laurel watched Ted cross out Copani's picture as well and saw that with him about one third of Bertinelli's top underbosses had been taken out. The dates Ted had written under each picture suggested that it had happened in the last two months. An awfully short time for such a number of casualties even in their line of business.

"Whoever is taking these people out, they either don't understand that this could cause a gang war or they just don't care," Ted commented as he watched her look over his chart.

"Another gang?"

"According to the reports your father brought by the other day, the police have questioned the usual suspects. Officially everyone's denying any involvement. Well, they would...", Ted guessed, rubbing his chin as he turned back to the white board. "But it doesn't make any sense. None of the other crime families is powerful enough to take one another out. They'd be risking too much to be involved in this."

"Unless they picked them out one by one. Maybe the woman from the other night is... like and independent contractor. Can't be easily traced back to any one family, while she slowly destroys the Bertinelli business."

"How would she know where these people were, when they were vulnerable. Take Paul Copani; his meeting with Walter Steele had been denied outright, so he decided to turn up in front of Queen Consolidated to shanghai him. That probably wasn't planned for weeks in advance. Without inside knowledge, our killer couldn't have known."

Laurel contemplated that for a moment, but however she looked at it, Ted was right. To kill so many members of the Bertinelli syndicate in such a short time, the killer had to have had insider information. Now, there was still a chance that one of the other families had managed to turn one of Bertinelli's people, but it would have to be someone near the top to know all of that and they would risk suspicion if they were the only ones left standing. An inside job, with one of Bertinelli's own fixers turning on him was much more likely. She looked up again at the faces staring back at her from the white board.

"We agree that the purple-clad woman has something to do with this, yes?"

Ted nodded.

"There doesn't seem to be a lot of female empowerment going on in the upper ranks of this crime syndicate. Do dad's files say anything about a female enforcer or assassin?"

Ted handed her the document with all known affiliates of the Bertinellis and their presumed occupation. The only women on the list were either family members, bookies or the occasional fence. No one in a remotely violent capacity. Laurel looked up at Ted; their didn't seem to be much to go on.

"Maybe a former victim..." Then she shook her head. "They would certainly be angry enough, but they wouldn't have access to that kind of information."

"If they worked their way into the family, but that would have taken years... Still, a determined woman is capable of anything – like convincing a broken vigilante to join her crusade," he teased gently.

"You are not broken," she replied sternly.

He knew better than to start that discussion again. As far as going out and taking the hands-on approach for anything but special appearances, they both knew he was.

"There's another possibility. There is one woman in the family with access to all the necessary information without arousing any kind of suspicion," he said instead, pointing a finger at the photograph next to Frank Bertinelli himself. They both looked at the picture of a tall, dark-haired woman whose only labeling was 'daughter'.

"You think she'd act against her own father."

"So far she's our best bet. We should consider it a possibility."

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Starling General)_

"Paul Copani belongs to the Bertinelli clan, so the attack was probably not meant for you," he informed her quietly.

Moira nodded, but made no sound. She still didn't turn her head to look at him either. Every time she closed her eyes, she relived that moment. Her shock at seeing the motorcyclist pulling out the weapon, the shots ringing out. For a moment she had been paralyzed, then her legs gave out under her and all she saw as she fell backward was the immense gray sky above her head. Then there had been a loud thump, but it took her a moment to realize that she'd hit the ground. Her sight blurred at the sudden pain. She reached out with her hand to grasp at air. She had been searching for something, but at the time she hadn't known what. Only when a warm hand grabbed hold of hers and Walter's familiar face appeared before her blurry vision had she felt some sort of calm return to her.

Then Oliver appeared out of nowhere asking if she was alright. She mumbled an affirmation to calm her frantic son. He squeezed her wrist once, then he was gone. She called for him, irrationally worried at his sudden disappearance. Walter had spoken to her soothingly; she couldn't remember the words, but it had assured her he was there with her and she had needed that. She had clung to him until the ambulance came to take her away. As they hoisted her onto a stretcher, she saw another paramedic carry a large black sack past her. Her heart rate must have doubled at the sight. She hadn't even thought of Mr Copani again until that very moment. Walter and her may have been arguing with the man, but she hadn't wished this on him. She remembered thinking that he couldn't be... That he just couldn't. She had been agitated, wriggling and struggling against the straps that were supposed to hold her in place for the transit to the hospital, trying to sit up and see.

It was Walter who'd told her, given her confirmation. She had fallen back onto the stretcher boneless.

"-experience such as yours can... reorder one's priorities..." The tentative tone in which her companion said it made it sound more like a question than a statement. One she had to answer. She had to put his doubts and unease at rest or the plan would never work.

"I assure you, I'm still as convinced of our undertaking as ever. Nothing will change that. I will allow nothing to interfere with the mission." Her voice was quieter than she would have liked, but it was steadfast and her companion looked convinced. He heaved a small sigh of relief, then nodded at her in acknowledgement.

Then she chuckled.

"You know you're the second person today to ask me that question." She didn't know why she found that amusing; the first time her stomach had nearly revolted at giving the same answer.

"Oh?"

"Malcolm came in earlier; asked me the same thing. It's touching how you're all so concerned with my well-being," she added bitterly.

"Moira..."

"No, no, it's fine. I'm fine. I'm still in," she placated him at his worried, guilty interjection. There was no sense in feeling bitter now. She had ended up in this mess and at least he was helping her in trying to get through it. It was only natural that he wanted something in return.

"Good. There's still a lot we don't know, but we'll discuss the details at a later time. I should give you back to your family and friends."

He turned to leave, but she called him back.

"...you are a friend... Even after everything..." This, too, was a tentative offer. When she looked up at him, he offered her a brief smile, pained and relieved all in one, and turned again toward the door. Moira felt a weight lift from her heart at his reaction.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Oliver's lair)_

Oliver looked over the information on the screen intently. There wasn't a lot. Mostly just the dates of several special openings and youth programs, some pictures taken on the same day every year. Nothing of substance. Through the police database, Oliver knew the guy had been arrested for aggravated assault, but he'd never been charged because the man he'd sent to the hospital had been in the process of viciously attacking a woman. After that, the man had founded a neighborhood watch that, it being the Glades, operated only sporadically and Oliver had found at least a few reports of people causing trouble being dropped of at the Glades' police station while it was still in operation. The watch had apparently disbanded given the lack of recent activity, but the vigilante had to admit it was a valiant effort on the man's part. Since then he had continued to run anti-violence, anti-gang programs for kids living in the Glades. Financial support came from the city as the Glades' resident legal aid office had fought to get the program accredited as a public service to which felons could be assigned either to do community service or to partake in one of the programs as a character-building activity. Oliver even found that some of the community workers had decided to stay on voluntarily to help run the programs and had taken on most of the duties after an injury had apparently caused Oliver's person of interest to draw back quite a bit from his own establishment.

"If you're that interested, you could just ask her out."

Diggle's tease came out of nowhere for Oliver. He hadn't heard his partner enter the secret base or approach the work desk and scrambled to switch off the monitor, while trying to look dignified doing so. Then he took a moment, cleared his throat and stood slowly to face the former soldier. Dig was smirking triumphantly at him, having been able to take him by surprise. Perhaps that – and the ensuing teasing, no doubt – was the veteran's revenge for all their sparring sessions in which Oliver imparted blow after blow and with a certain glee. The vigilante made to grab his father's booklet, but Diggle was quicker, waggling it in front of him and shaking his head.

"You're not getting out of this conversation," he informed Oliver.

"I just wanted to make sure she's in good hands. She had quite the scare at Iron Heights."

With that, he moved forward swiftly to grab the list out of his friend's hand to indicate that the conversation was, in fact, over. Diggle just raised an eyebrow at him, clearly not believing a word of his excuse. Oliver let out a frustrated growl, but ignored his partner. It didn't really matter; let Diggle think whatever he wanted. Truth was, he felt responsible for how Laurel's confidence in her own abilities had suddenly plummeted. He had been too slow to get to her before Brodeur's assassin had taken a shot at her. He was just glad the man hadn't somehow smuggled a gun into the prison or it could have been a whole lot worse. Bad enough Laurel had been driven to compose a new training regiment in a panic, he at least wanted to make sure she was in competent hands. Ted Grant had successfully participated in boxing and mixed martial arts competitions, so as far as self-defense dry-runs in the gym were concerned, he could provide all the training Laurel could ever need.

"Copani worked for Frank Bertinelli," he told Diggle in an attempt to regain focus on what mattered and distract his partner from his interest in Oliver's internet activity. "Bertinelli's is one of the names on my father's list."

"So, someone else who crosses off names or just a coincidence."

"I browsed through the recent police reports regarding the Bertinelli family-"

"When did you find time to do that while you were busy stalking Laurel Lance's boyfriend."

Oliver started at the term, but otherwise gave no indication as to having heard as he continued. He switched the screen back on and opened the relevant file.

"Several of their top-level operatives have been killed in similar drive-by scenarios. Whoever they are, they are not working on the list, but concentrating on slowly dismantling Bertinelli's operations."

"Do you think it's connected to last night's raid on the drug lab. Shouldn't you be all for that?"

"Not when my mother gets caught in the crossfire," Oliver retorted sharply. "She could have been shot, Diggle. She could have died."

The veteran looked contrite.

"I'm sorry, Oliver. You're right," he apologized quietly. "More than you think, actually. I spoke to the paramedics while you were with your family at the hospital. Witnesses say that several shots were fired, but a paramedic told me that Copani was hit only by two. One in the shoulder, which he would have survived, the other hit the lung, letting blood enter into it. He drowned in his own blood."

Teddy Reston's face suddenly flashed before Oliver's eyes. The blood pooling on his chest, spilling out of his mouth. The boy's final smile and then that terrible gurgling noise. Then Canary's face came to mind, her concern and her suggestion to 'be better'. Oliver swallowed thickly. He shook his head clear of the thoughts.

"I think I better have a conversation with Mr Bertinelli," Oliver mumbled as he made his way to the exit.

"Aren't you gonna dress up for the occasion?"

"I already am. This is a meeting I better take as Oliver Queen."

Half an hour later saw him face to face with a very surprised Frank Bertinelli, who ushered him in flustered. Walking to the front door, Oliver had come just in time to witness Mrs Copani leave the house. She was clearly distraught at her husband's violent fate and, though he felt a twinge of compassion for the young widow, Oliver thought that she might have expected it given Paul Copani's chosen line of work. He followed Frank Bertinelli past the entrance hall to a spacious area that seemed a mix between living room and bar, clearly meant to receive important guests on business matters. Bertinelli offered him a Scotch, which Oliver sipped once only for formalities sake. He had no intention of drinking in the presence of the crime boss.

"I was at Queen Consolidated when Mr Copani was killed. I know he was in your employ and thought I come to offer you and his family my condolences," Oliver began smoothly.

"Yes, Paul was... a good friend. He didn't deserve to be gunned down like that," Bertinelli mused quietly, then raised his head to look at Oliver again with a note of alarm and concern. "And I heard your mother got caught up in the... hit. I hope she wasn't hurt."

Oliver felt the strain of upholding the fake smile he had plastered on his face since before knocking on the door.

"She'll be fine, just shocked. Starling General is keeping her overnight to be sure, though. My stepfather is with her."

Bertinelli nodded and took another sip of his Scotch. He seemed honestly displeased at his mother's involvement in the shooting, if perhaps only because he was sure to have finally lost the business contract with Queen Consolidated he had been vying for. Oliver decided to press his advantage. He sat forward to create a more intimate atmosphere and to draw Bertinelli's attention back to their conversation.

"I was told Mr Copani was discussing a building contract with my stepfather. I'd be inclined to give it to you."

Bertinelli looked up in surprise.

"Your stepfather didn't seem willing to even discuss it. He denied Paul Copani an appointment." The syndicate boss was clearly suspicious of the sudden good will in the Queen family, so Oliver decided to fall back on his purported irresponsibility to draw him in.

"Yes, Walter is a bit stubborn that way and I have no official standing in the company-"

"Then what-"

"-but I do have a building contract to assign myself. As you may know I am in the process of opening a nightclub in my father's old factory, but it has stood abandoned for so many years that it still needs a lot of work. It's not as prestigious as Queen Consolidated's new science building, I admit, but my endorsement would go a long way with other potential contractors and if the club is a success, it should also offer quite a bit of favorable publicity... What do you say?"

Bertinelli took a moment to mull this over. He got up and moved behind the seat, turned away from Oliver as if to hide his face in case it revealed his thoughts on the matter. He had to admit that Oliver Queen's suggestion made sense. It was true that, despite his past and his character, the word of the Queen heir bore a lot of weight in the world of the rich and powerful. Enough weight to open doors. While some of the more reputable business men – like Walter Steele – would probably disapprove of Oliver's recourse to Bertinelli's associates, others would likely seek to follow his example if for publicity reasons only, particularly if the club did end up being a success. Not to mention that if he could accommodate Queen now, he would probably secure the man's good will and cooperation for the future when he would inevitably rise to the position of CEO of Queen Consolidated. Even if he couldn't secure the prestigious contract he had wanted now, he could lay the groundwork for future business. He turned back to Oliver Queen, placidly sitting back on the small couch, with a winning smile.

"I say I can make you a good offer, Mr Queen," Bertinelli replied, offering the other man his hand.

"That's what I wanted to hear," Oliver told him enthusiastically. He took the proffered hand and shook it. He kept his grip gentle, hoping Bertinelli would see it as weakness and underestimate the man he dealt with. Bertinelli fell back into his armchair with an audible thump and a sigh of relieve. He smiled at Oliver and raised his glass, prompting the vigilante to take his second sip from his own glass so as not to appear rude. Bertinelli switched the glass to his other hand and shook a finger jovially at Oliver, his face opened into a full-blown grin.

"You don't know it, Oliver – may I call you Oliver?" At the question, Oliver just gave a polite nod. "Excellent. You don't know it, but you may have just saved my business."

"It hasn't been going well?"

"Well, business has been bad for everyone in the past few years and we've had a couple of setbacks recently; a phase of bad luck you may call it. You know how it is. This is just the respite we need... Oh, but... I'm sorry if I brought back bad memories." He looked honestly stricken at having mentioned, however indirectly, Oliver's time on the island.

"Don't worry about it, Frank. We can't not talk about the past five years, just because I had a bit of rotten luck as well. It's behind me. I'm back now, I'm home." Surprising himself, Oliver actually meant that. He realized he hadn't felt as consumed by his experiences on the island recently as he had when he had just gotten back. For a moment, he allowed himself the thought that his work as a vigilante seemed to work. Not only as a distraction, or as a duty, but as a way of coping with his past, his father's past and everything he had done in his time away. It seemed like it was a way of healing for him and now the burden of the past five years didn't weigh as heavily on him. He refocused himself on the conversation and noticed something else had drawn Bertinelli's attention. Looking around he saw a tall, beautiful young woman approach them. He recognized her from the pictures he had seen as Helena Bertinelli, Frank Bertinelli's daughter.

"Non importa dove giri o dove vai, sempre a casa tornerai," she intoned in a melodious voice as she reached them. She must have noticed his confused expression as he got up, because she graciously offered a translation before introducing herself. "It doesn't matter where you turn or go, you'll always return home... Helena Bertinelli, nice to meet you."

"Oliver Queen," he replied simply. When they shook hand, he was surprised to find that hers was almost as calloused as his. "And the pleasure is all mine."

A phone call broke through his stupor and before he could react, Frank Bertinelli had relegated him to his daughter. He offered to come by another time to discuss the details as he really wanted to get to the family patriarch himself, but the man insisted that conducting business with his daughter was the same as conducting business with him and Oliver didn't want to draw attention to himself. Helena didn't seem particularly thrilled either, but a short conversation on the side with her father had her agree to take him to dinner while her father attended the continuing fall out from Paul Copani's death. Oliver couldn't really argue with that priority, so he allowed himself to be led away by the young woman. When he walked out with Helena Bertinelli on his arm, Diggle surreptitiously raised an eyebrow, but opened the door for them immediately. He had convinced Oliver not to ride his bike to the Bertinelli residence and he, in turn, had agreed to wait outside to avoid any possible incident based on the fact that he was armed.

Helena gave Diggle directions to a small Italian restaurant in the inner city. Then, she bypassed them and went to a bike that was being brought to the front door by an attendant along with the necessary gear. Helena pulled on the sturdy clothes over her dress and exchanged her heels, which she placed in the small box mounted onto the motorcycle, for boots. At a glance, Oliver thought it looked cozy, almost like you were dining at a friend's place. He told Diggle to park around the corner and stay with the car. Partially because he really didn't feel like giving his bodyguard any more ammunition by having him present at dinner, but more importantly because this way, Diggle could keep an eye out for appearances of Black Canary or the mysterious third vigilante from the other night. Handling a tablet and not paying attention to his charge would look strange if he were in the restaurant with them. Diggle nodded politely at the instruction and stayed back as Oliver escorted Helena back toward the restaurant. As they walked through the door, there was a small, pleasant chime to alert the staff of new guests. The dimly lit space was as cozy as Oliver had first imagined, tables wide enough apart so the guests don't feel crowded, but close enough that striking up cross-table conversations was possible if one was so inclined. Despite the early hour for dinner, the restaurant was packed with people, only a few tables still free, which said a lot about the quality of food and service. They were greeted by a small Italian woman who recognized Helena immediately and addressed her with a mix of familiarity and trepidation. Oliver wondered if the latter may have to do more with her father's business than with Helena herself, who appeared perfectly charming as she exchanged a few words in Italian with the other woman. Oliver didn't understand a word of it, except for his name and the a few interspersed generic words and phrases that almost anyone recognized in Italian.

They were led to a small table in a bay to the side of the restaurant. The window front allowed a lot of light in and gave Oliver a good view of the street in case trouble approached. When he was handed the menu, Oliver was both glad and disappointed that it came in a bilingual edition. Having to ask Helena for translations may have served as an icebreaker. They hadn't spoken since Helena told Diggle where they were going. Having both been sort of forced into this dinner made for an awkward atmosphere that Oliver wasn't sure how to break, so he focused on his menu until the proprietor joined them personally to recommend a few of the house favorites. That offered a minute of pleasant conversation, before they lapsed back into silence after placing their orders.

"You're an angel, Helena," the proprietor told her. "So beautiful. We'll take good care of both of you tonight."

There was a pause where Oliver wondered how much of that was heartfelt and how much was forced out by the fact that the Bertinelli family no doubt extorted protection money from the business.

"You'll tell your father... hello from us?"

"Of course, Mr Russo."

The man's face relaxed a little.

"I'll get right on your orders."

Oliver felt bad for him and wanted to tell him not to rush, not to neglect his other guests, but considering the role he was playing and the goal he was aiming for that might have turned out counterproductive. He resolved instead to leave them a large tip. Money couldn't make up for what these people went through, but it was all he could offer for the moment. At least, until the vigilante issue was resolved and he could concentrate on the list again. Bertinelli's was definitely the next name he would cross out.

"So, I heard about your mother's accident. Is she gonna be okay?"

"She's gonna be fine," Oliver replied, somewhat taken aback by the brashness of the question. "But I hope the police finds the attacker so that he or she won't be."

Helena looked down.

"Yes," she murmured quietly. "Though I heard that my father's associate Paul Copani was with her at the time. I'm sure she wasn't the intended target."

"Be that as it may, that biker opened fire on a group of people. He or she must have been fully aware of the potential consequences." He frowned at Helena, unsure why she would defend the attacker.

"You're right." She sounded apologetic now. "I'm sorry, you're right of course. I just... I know my father is not a good man. I..."

"You don't want him to succeed?"

Helena just shook her head.

"I know the feeling," Oliver replied, somewhat appeased. Now it was Helena's turn to look confused, but she shook it off right away, knowing better than to pry when his face was so closed off.

"I'm glad your mother will be okay," she told him instead. "So, why would you wanna go into business with him? You know who he is and how he made his money."

"You really don't approve of your family's enterprises, do you? Even though you benefited from them."

"My father and I share a name and that name defines us whether we want it to or not, like you and Robert Queen," she replied, bringing the conversation back to his admission of disappointment in his father. He inclined his head, admitting also that she was right to criticize him for the same thing he had just noted about her. "You've already made judgments about me, like I have already made judgments about you."

"Right, I'm the rich man's Lyndsey Lohan," Oliver repeated what he'd overheard in her private discussion with her father.

"Sorry," she said smilingly, but appropriately embarrassed.

"That's okay," he brushed it off with a smile of his own. Surprisingly, it didn't feel forced. He watched with interest as Helena toyed with the crucifix she wore around her neck, before inquiring if she could ask him a question. Judging by the abruptness of that request and the overall tone of the conversation, he expected something extremely personal and braced himself.

"I know it must have been hell for you, alone on that island for five years, but uhm was there ever a day when you were just... happy to be away from everything? No pressure from your family, no need to be the person everyone else expects you to be. Was there ever a day when-"

"When I didn't feel lost, I felt... free." That was a truth he had never uttered before. No one had ever asked him if there had been anything good about his time on the island. People tended to avoid that topic like the plague around him and Oliver supposed he was glad for the consideration, but it made it difficult to move on because there was so much about the island that he was keeping inside – even the bits he didn't need to keep secret. There was no one to talk to, because everyone assumed it was a terrible time in his life that he didn't want to talk about and for the most part, they were right. But Helena asking that question let something loose inside of him, a pressure that had constricted him, at being able to admit that there were times here when he missed the island. It felt just as free as those few, but precious days on the island had. As with the friends he had met on the island, he felt a sense of connection with Helena begin to form. They were like-minded in some ways, it seemed; both burdened by expectations and appearances and their respective families. Both feeling the pressure, both yearning to be free. "More than one and... those are the days that I miss."

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(The Docks)_

"Ugh, why does every creepy meeting have to take place at the docks," Laurel grumbled quietly, while she crouched low around a corner in the shade of a building. The police had gotten a tip about a meeting between Frank Bertinelli and the local boss of the Triads and her father had quickly ducked away to call her. He had also warned her that the place would be bugged. Knowing where the bugs would be, allowed her to pick a hiding spot where it was unlikely that she's be on tape. She had to stop a bit further away than she would have wanted to, but still close enough to jump into action. Thanks to her father she could even follow the conversation by having Ted tune into the police's frequency and passing the feed through her comm link. She could just wait for her father to tell her about the exchange, but Laurel had a bad feeling about this encounter and decided to come along to intervene in case either side didn't leave it at words.

The Triads, represented by China White and a man Laurel didn't recognize but presumed to be the man in charge, were already waiting when she heard the rumble of a car approach, then an engine being cut off. Laurel started quietly when this was followed by two car doors slamming closed and footsteps approaching the other two. She scooted closer to the corner to take a look at the four members of organized crime. She could only see China White's back and mop of white hair, but phantom pain briefly flared up in her arm as she remembered the slice of the other woman's knife. The Chinese had their backs to her, but she could tell from the tension in their shoulders, they were not taking well to the accusations, even before China White replied to them. Bertinelli's face, in the few glimpses she caught of it, looked furious, his angry threats were spat out like poison. Zhishan said something in his native tongue, and China White responded to Bertinelli after a moment.

" _We have nothing to do with the attacks on your organization. We are not moving in on your territory. Our organizations have always worked alongside one another. We would not risk a war."_

" _Who else would attack my people?!"_ , Bertinelli retorted angrily, turning to leave again. _"Paul Copani was the last straw. If any more of my associates or businesses... have accidents, I'm coming after you. I'll bring down hell on you!"_

Laurel listened attentively at the short back-and forth between the two sides when suddenly the situation threatened to escalate.

" _You do that, you'll swim in an ocean of your family's blood,"_ China White replied icily.

Frank Bertinelli made an abrupt turn back toward the two Chinese leaders. In quick, angry strides he was right in front of China White, a finger warningly raised to her face. Perhaps she tried to look back unimpressed, but Laurel could see her hand stealthily move to her back to grab hold of one of her short knives. She flexed her grip on the deadly weapon while listening to Bertinelli's warning and it made Laurel automatically reach for one of her batons. At the last moment she changed her mind; with the baton she'd never make it in time, so instead she grabbed one of her sonic bombs. They had fiddled a bit with it to reduce its capacity, so it wouldn't tear down entire rooms anymore, but as of yet they had had no one to test the weapon on. Still, Laurel readied the bomb and put herself in position to roll it across the floor, hopefully distracting China White long enough for it to detonate.

" _You leave my family out of this!,"_ Bertinelli screeched at the double meaning. _"You touch a hair on my daughter's head and I will skin you, you frigid old bitch!"_

" _Watch your mouth, Bertinelli, or you'll be the one who gets skinned,"_ China White hissed back at him. Her voice was like ice, cold and low and threatening. A deadly calm emanated from the Chinese assassin. The knife was still held against her back, though, so Laurel waited with baited breath. _"We're not attacking you, but if you want war we'll give you one that Starling City won't soon forget."_

With that, China White released her knife and she and her boss both turned to leave the scene. Bertinelli, thankfully, only stared after them in a mix of rage and astounding. Laurel pressed herself back against the shadowed wall, making herself as small and unnoticeable as possible while China White passed. Her grip tightened on the sonic bomb when the female assassin stopped for a moment a few feet away and took in her surroundings. The vigilante held her breath to reduce the noises the made, but she felt her heart beating so strongly that surely China White must hear it. The screeches of nearby cats came from another alley. China White's attention was caught momentarily, then a few words in Chinese drifted over and Laurel would have given just about anything to understand what Zhishan was saying. Whatever it was, the assassin left to follow him with slight reluctance and Laurel suppressed a sigh of relieve that would no doubt have given her away.

" _I don't know, capo. The Triads have nothing to gain from picking a fight with us. I just don't see why they would risk it,"_ a new voice, Bertinelli's henchman, spoke up.

" _Who then? Since that hooded freak came to the aid of Bondage Babe-"_ And Laurel could clearly hear Ted choking on his laughter at this _"-there's no one else left on the streets. The South American cartels abandoned their business in Starling for more profitable – and less vigilante-infested – pickings east. It's gotta be them."_

" _There's still the Russians."_

 _Bertinelli scoffed, unconvinced._

Then the line fell silent apart from the sounds of a starting car. Laurel filed the information about the cartels in the back of her mind for later review, but for now she was more interested in the immediate conversation. It hadn't come to blows this time, but the pot was clearly about to boil over. She made her way out of the docks and onto a familiar roof and made doubly sure that she had not been followed, before she dared to ask Ted to patch her through to her dad.

" _Are you alright?"_ , was his greeting.

"I'm fine, don't worry. There was a moment when I thought... ah, nevermind. It went as well as it could, I suppose. Did you hear it all?"

" _Yeah, someone needs to find that killer or these streets will turn into a war zone."_

"We're working on it."

" _We as in you and your partner or we as in you and the madman?"_ Laurel blew at her fake hair when she noted the sarcasm. No doubt he'd waited to talk to her directly for that line of attack rather than letting his frustrations out on Ted when he called in with new information. _"Don't think the officers didn't see you two heading off in the same direction last night."_

"All of us are working on it," Ted offered diplomatically through the line.

" _Is that supposed to make me feel better?"_ , Lance questioned back and Ted fell silent again, causing Laurel to come to both men's defense.

"He covered me. You should be glad. Besides, Ted's right; we need all hands on deck for this one. I could have gotten shot, but, da- there was someone else. Another woman dressed in purple. I'm not sure if the officers saw her."

It was quiet on the other end of the line for a moment, while Laurel could faintly hear the sounds of paper being shuffled. Her father must have been looking at the report. All reports on the female vigilante ended on his desk; that was the first thing he had made sure of when Laurel started her dangerous night job.

" _The report mentions someone driving away in a haste on a motorcycle, but nothing else,"_ he mumbled into the phone as he read up on the incident. _"Hmm, purple, huh? Thank God you people color-code..."_

The sarcasm was back again. Great.

" _Any idea who she is?"_

" _Not really. We think it might be an inside job, but there aren't many women in the Bertinelli family that might have the training or the access to pull it off,"_ Ted spoke up from headquarters.

 _"Training can be had secretly. Don't judge someone by their job title. And normally a small pool of suspects helps identify the culprit."_

"Well, then take a look at your suspect pool, because Helena Bertinelli is really the only one who fits the bi-" Laurel interrupted herself when she felt something vibrating against her chest. Unzipping her leather jacket she retrieved the vigilante's phone.

" _What is it? What's wrong?"_ , her father and her friend asked simultaneously.

"Nothing, sorry. I thought I saw a couple of low-lives following a woman, but it was nothing," Laurel lied, biting her lip guiltily. She had told neither Ted nor her dad about the phone the vigilante had given her. In her haste to get ready the other night, she had forgotten both her jacket and her comm link. She hoped they forgave her when she told them. Soon. Ted probably sooner than her father. She dreaded her dad's reaction the most and Ted could help her work on the encryption. He had contacts with other vigilantes all over the States that had come in handy before for the occasional piece of advice or favor. Laurel glanced over the message.

 _'Trouble at Da Russo's. Purple Avenger potential show. Meet?'_

Laurel raised an eyebrow.

"The police might want to head over to Da Russo. Something is about to go down. Last night's mystery guest might make an appearance, but I'm too far away to reach it in time," she informed her father while typing in the reply.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Da Russo)_

She smiled at him. A soft, knowing smile as if she felt it too. Their food came and it looked delicious. Oliver was almost too taken by the conversation to let it go in favor of food, but ultimately he decided to postpone the rest of that particular discussion to after dinner. The heavy topic might otherwise ruin their good mood. They had an excellent dinner, making small talk throughout the evening, discussing neither business nor family as the restaurant slowly emptied around them. It was nice, light, but it also felt empty, so finally they drew back to their earlier conversation.

"People always ask me what I missed the most – air conditioning, satellite radio, tagla-, tagli-"

"Tagliatelle?", Helena prompted helpfully.

"Yeah," Oliver chuckled. "But those are the answer that I give people because those are the answers they are expecting."

"Why can't you just be truthful?"

"I don't know how truthful I can be."

Helena's face was open, accepting. She seemed to understand what he meant. Unable to be truthful because he didn't know how much his loved ones could face. Unable to be truthful because he didn't know how much he could bear to share. How much could be shared and how much he wanted to keep inside just for himself.

"You've been through a crucible... And it changed you, how could it not?"

They lapsed into silence again, but this time it was comfortable. A familiarity settled between them and Oliver could scarcely believed how much he had shared with a woman he barely knew when he hadn't told any of his family this. Then again, that had been exactly what Walter had suggested; that it was sometimes easier to talk to a stranger than to your best friend. And wasn't that part of why he had thought out Laurel when his family wanted him to become involved in the family business? Then he had had additional concerns for her safety, but with Helena he was free of responsibilities to her and could have an honest discussion. That should scare him and part of him was concerned at the ease with which he talked to Helena, but he was too calm and too... happy to let this moment slip away completely.

"That's beautiful," he said instead, redirecting their conversation to her. "Your cross."

She took a heavy breath and Oliver realized he had touched upon a testy subject.

"It's a gift, from my fiancé."

He repeated that word a little incredulously, fighting down a twinge of disappointment, but when he inquired further, her face closing up told him that something had gone terribly wrong.

"...He died."

"I'm sorry."

"Me too. That was my crucible."

Oliver nodded in understanding. "Well, it's nice to... It's really nice to be with someone that I can be myself with."

"It's nice to be with someone who knows how hard it can be."

They shared another smile. Oliver felt like he had been smiling all evening; he might get muscle ache tomorrow. Unfortunately, they were interrupted by a phone call. He apologized for having to take this, but noticed it was Diggle and knew he had to answer. He just hoped his partner wasn't to mad about all the hours he spent waiting in a car.

"Hey, it's Dig. Something came up. You gotta get out of there and call me back."

Dig hung up before Oliver could answer, running home the urgency of the issue, so he excused himself and pulled out the money to pay for dinner. Helena's admission that she would like him to stay prompted a soft clench in his chest. He had really enjoyed their evening too and was loathe to see it end. As he put the money on the table reluctantly, she placed her hand over his in a small caress, insisting that she pay the bill. Her hand remained a moment longer before releasing him, leaving behind a soft tingle as it did so. He left the money anyway, but finally got up to leave.

"Thank you... I have a confession: I didn't want to go out with you tonight."

"That makes two of us."

"But I'm really glad that I did."

"That makes two of us." Her words caused a soft fluttering in him as he went on.

"And I'd like to do it again sometime."

"I'd like that too... Oliver," her tone took on a warning edge. "Be careful with my father."

He nodded, before leaving to find Diggle. By the time he did, his partner had parked the car in a more secluded spot where it disappeared almost completely in the dark and popped the trunk. Without hesitation Oliver went to fetch his vigilante uniform and got changed while Diggle explained the situation.

"I kept an eye out for reports of the two leading ladies in your life, but nothing came up," Diggle began to fill him in, earning himself a glare. "However, I also checked CCTV footage and it seems the restaurant you just left is about to be hit by some of Bertinelli's crew."

"Helena is still in there."

"I doubt they'll get handsy with their boss' daughter, Oliver, they'll wait till she has left. The proprietor and his wife won't be so lucky."

"Maybe it would have been better if I stayed."

"You two would have had to leave eventually. Besides, if this purple chick is really after Bertinelli's men and has insider information on when and where they'll hit, this is a prime opportunity."

Oliver had to grudgingly agree.

"Do you want me to text your crime-fighting girlfriend?", Diggle questioned, then answered himself. "I'll take your glare as a no."

"I can handle this alone."

"Yeah, the thing about having a partner is that you don't have to. I can't go in there cause I would blow your cover, but she-"

"Would never make it in time... Fine, text her. Maybe it will give us a lead about her identity."

 **End of chapter 5!**

 **A/N:** Bit of a cliffhanger this time. I should mention that this will go down differently than in the actual episodes, although I liked those very much. Also, any ideas about what Moira might be doing?

I have finally decided on how to stage the big reveal between Oliver and Laurel; it will be a two-part process. Feel free to speculate who you think will find out first and how?!

As always, i hope you enjoyed the read!


	6. Chapter 6

**Guardian Angels**

 **Summary:** AU/ After five years in hell, Oliver Queen has returned home with only one goal – to save his city. Unfortunately, nobody told him he'd have to wait in line.

 **A/N:**

 **highlander348:** I'm not entirely sure yet. I expect she will, because I really like her snarky, quick-witted role during season one. She had a good dynamic with both John and Oliver, but I will admit to having some trouble writing her.

 **Victoria-Marie:** I was okay with a bit of Helliver until she turned into a raging lunatic. I'm trying for a slightly more complex character development and her and Oliver's connection will certainly play a role, but it won't be the focus of the fic.

 **Chapter 6: Battle Couples (Part II)**

"Helena is still in there."

"I doubt they'll get handsy with their boss' daughter, Oliver, they'll wait till she has left. The proprietor and his wife won't be so lucky."

"Maybe it would have been better if I stayed."

"You two would have had to leave eventually. Besides, if this purple chick is really after Bertinelli's men and has insider information on when and where they'll hit, this is a prime opportunity."

Oliver had to grudgingly agree.

"Do you want me to text your crime-fighting girlfriend?", Diggle questioned, then answered himself. "I'll take your glare as a no."

"I can handle this alone."

"Yeah, the thing about having a partner is that you don't have to. I can't go in there cause I would blow your cover, but she-"

"Would never make it in time... Fine, text her. Maybe it will give us a lead about her identity."

With that, he was off back toward the restaurant, following the sound of a crash. By the time he got there, he realized the fight had already started. Either Black Canary had been miraculously on the same page, really close, or... Oliver rushed right into the middle of it to find his suspicions confirmed. He found a tall woman in heavy dark clothing and a biker helmet. The five syndicate men being the more immediate danger, he initially joined forces with the mysterious woman. Soon they were fighting back to back, ducking under repeated swings of fists or metal bars. In these close quarters he couldn't use his bow the way it was intended, but instead swung with it at Bertinelli's goons. He caught one in the side of the head, sending him to the ground. Taking a step forward he slammed his foot against the nearest shin and brought his elbow up to break the jaw. Then he grabbed the man in question by the arm and pulled him around until he stumbled over his unconscious companion and straight into a third man's arms.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the dark silhouettes of the woman fighting the other two men. She used her helmet to her full advantage by smashing it against one man's face, breaking his nose and possibly cracking his skull. Followed by a quick jab against his throat, the men went down grasping for air. The band's leader by all appearances as well as how vocal he was pushed her back into a wall and punched her in the gut. Oliver was ready to throw a dart in his direction when the mystery woman turned the tables on him. A swift knee to the groin had the man wheezing, but she didn't let up and instead moved around him, grabbing him by his lapels, and threw him into the counter. Oliver had to duck out of the man's path as he half stumbled and half-flew into the heavy, wooden piece of furniture with a groan, then sunk down against it. The woman suddenly pulled a gun and Oliver was just in time to shift her aim before she would have killed the unconscious man. Oliver and the other vigilante were practically alone in the restaurant; everyone else either unconscious or in a tangled mess on the floor and unwilling to get up. They stared at one another for a long moment.

"I saw enough your handiwork the other night," Oliver started the conversation.

"From what I've seen of the news reports, you and your girlfriend are not exactly prissy either."

"She's not my-", he started with irritation, then interrupted himself abruptly. "Why does everyone assume that?!" He said it more to himself than to her, but he got a cheeky answer anyway.

"It's in the news so it must be true," she quipped with a downright wicked smile.

He grunted in annoyance, but had more important things to worry about.

"We don't want anyone dangerous running around Starling."

"..."

"Anyone else, especially someone with your lack of restraint."

Her fists balled at her sides. Oliver could sense another fight coming on.

"How many have you sent to the morgue?! Maybe they should call you The Hypocrite...", she shot back, aiming the gun in his direction. "You want restraint; how about that I haven't killed you yet!"

"I don't kill indiscriminately and I don't make mistakes," he told her in an unimpressed voice, but readying himself to fight. "Look at today, you nearly killed two innocent people to get to Copani. And what if the restaurant owner and his wife had gotten caught up in this-"

But she was already off. He made to follow her when he heard sirens approaching and stopped dead for a second. Heaving a sigh he made a quick exit. He looked for a hint as to where she had gone, but couldn't find anything, so he hurried to the nearest roof and called Dig. His partner had already made his way back to the club right after he and Oliver had parted company.

"What about Canary?"

" _She texted back,"_ he heard Dig's voice come through the comm link. _"_ _At least 20 minutes out_ _. Can you make it on your own?"_

"Tell her to stay put. The police is already on the scene."

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

A short time later found the Hood back where it had all begun. He was beginning to equally like and loathe this blasted roof he kept returning to. Black Canary was already there. He noted that her batons were firmly fixed in their holsters, within reach and wondered if she expected trouble from him. Without ceremony, she offered him something on the flat of her hand. He recognized it as a small registration device, not unlike his Dictaphone arrows. He took it without hesitation. When he switched on the recording, he realized what had her so on edge. A glance at the hard lines on her face confirmed his theory. She was uneasy about the recent meeting between Bertinelli and the Triads. Oliver had wondered what had pulled Frank Bertinelli away from his lucrative business offer.

"We need to end this," she murmured. "Before a gang war breaks out. Please tell me you've got something new."

"Not much. She seems decent at hand-to-hand combat."

"She'd have to be good," Canary snorted. "What with all those people at the drug lab she took down. Listen, we might have an idea – just an idea-"

A shot rang out and both vigilantes hit the ground.

"Well, I'm even better!"

Both Black Canary and the Hood looked up to see the purple-clad woman jumping over from a nearby roof and took that brief moment to duck for cover behind the access door to the stairs. Just as they made it past the life-saving protrusion on the roof, bullets started flying again all around them. When the sound suddenly stopped, the Hood moved to fire two shots, but the purple-clad woman flitted away gracefully. He had to admit that she had great coordination and agility as she managed to fire a shot in the middle of her cartwheel while balancing on one hand. The shot, however, seemed to fly past him by miles as he ducked back behind their cover.

"But you're a lousy shot!", Canary couldn't help but call back at her. Oliver groaned, leaning his head against the door.

"Do you have to antagonize her?"

"Sorry to interrupt your lovers' tiff..." The woman round the corner to point the gun at them, but the other two vigilantes were ready for her. Turning sideways to avoid offering a target, Oliver grabbed hold of the gun to secure its position. Then he slammed his foot against her shin to bring the woman down. Meanwhile, Canary landed a roundhouse kick against the woman's head, or rather helmet. The impact of the kick send her body smashing against the wall of the roof access booth. Oliver ripped away the gun and gave the woman a swift kick to send her rolling backward. She got up again, disoriented, but pulled another gun from behind her back. This time, Canary's baton came down hard to send it flying, then she grabbed the other woman's arm to throw her over her shoulder, but the woman snaked her arm around Canary's neck instead to choke her. The Hood saw Canary swiftly move her chin in the crook of the other woman's elbow before her grip could tighten in order to protect her windpipe from being crushed. She secured the arm that held her with one hand and slammed her elbow into the dark-haired woman's gut with the other.

The third vigilante stumbled back a little, allowing Canary to free herself of the grip and roll away, while Oliver moved in. She spun to kick him, but he saw it coming in time. He took the kick in order to block her leg with his arm, then twirled her around until she fell into Canary's arms. The woman struggled, but Canary had snaked her arms around both of hers and she didn't seem to know how to get out of the hold. She tried to hit her captor with her helmet, but Black Canary had caught her while in a half-crouch, placing her face against the woman's shoulder blades, safe from her head busting, and allowing her to lift the other woman in the air. While she continued to kick with her legs, Oliver moved in to remove the helmet. Once the mess of dark hair that came with it had settled, the helmet nearly slipped out of his grasp.

"Helena... Bertinelli," he whispered as an afterthought.

Canary released her. She didn't run.

"Thought it might be you."

"You did?"

"I tried to tell you, but she interrupted us," Black Canary replied apologetically. "We suspected it might be an inside job."

She rounded on the other woman until they were face to face.

"What I don't get is why?"

Helena's jaw set stubbornly. A clear sign that she wasn't willing to talk. Oliver approached her as close as he dared, since they'd spent such an intimate evening so recently. He regarded her for a moment. Stubborn, yes, but also broken. He recalled what she had said about her crucible. The death of her fiancé; he wondered if it had anything to do with her father's business. If he'd been involved and something had gone wrong on a job. Oliver could understand the rage and the guilt that might have pooled into Helena's crusade for vengeance. Even through the voice distortion, his tone was soft when he spoke to her, hoping to gain her trust.

"Why doesn't matter," he finally said. "What you're doing is dangerous-"

"Hey pot, it's kettle, you're black."

"Oh, I can see you two will get along like a house on fire," Black Canary commented. He glared at her and she raised her hands in mock surrender.

"We have our reasons and no other options," he told Helena with conviction.

"Neither do I! My father has to be taken down!", she protested at once, but he grabbed her arm to quieten her before she could start into a rant.

"Then why not turn him in?", Canary asked with a certain irritation.

"You think I haven't tried that?! Nothing would stick! Even if you could find evidence, who'd present it in court?! No one will go against my father, no one!"

The two vigilantes looked at one another.

"I think I know someone who would."

Laurel's eyes shot to him, wondering if he, too, was thinking of the CNRI rooftop and Peter Declan's case. She had the feeling that it was what her hooded partner was thinking of. Frankly, she wasn't sure what to think of that. On one hand, he was right that she'd do anything to end the Bertinelli syndicate if she obtained the necessary evidence and she was flattered that he seemed to think so highly of her as a lawyer. On the other hand, she had the uneasy feeling that this would blow up in their faces. There was something about Helena Bertinelli that rubbed Laurel the wrong way. The other woman was consumed by revenge. She cast another glance at the Hood, admitting to herself that so might he be and she certainly carried a healthy amount of anger into her night job as well, so maybe it was hypocritical, but she didn't trust Helena Bertinelli after what happened at the drug lab.

She watched silently for a moment while the conversation between the other two vigilantes went on and the Hood informed Helena of CNRI and Canary's civilian self. On the bright side, he seemed to do his best to convince her to at least give the legal approach a try. Helena, however, was less than receptive. She wasn't convinced some pro bono lawyer could take on her father's organization even if she were suicidal enough to try it. Laurel internally bristled at the insult, but it was soothed when the Hood calmly told the other woman about Somers' and Brodeur's cases. Helena appeared a little mollified after that, but clearly remained reluctant to bother with a less direct approach than blowing her father's business sky high. Finally, Laurel grew tired of the back-and-forth and pulled out the small camera she kept in her leg pouch. Before either of the other two realized what was going on, she snapped a picture of Helena in her vigilante outfit, purple coat and all, minus the helmet, and pocketed the item again.

"I could always drop that picture off at the nearest precinct if you prefer," she suggested smugly.

Helena scowled at her.

"Fine!", she barked at them.

"Then be at CNRI by five pm," the Hood told her.

Helena scoffed, but nodded. "I assume I'm free to go now since you've got me in your pocket."

Without waiting for a reply she stomped off, leaving the other two vigilantes to look after her. Eventually, the Hood turned to her and even in the dark of night and under the shadowed hood, she could tell he was smirking.

"Blackmail," he murmured, almost impressed. "I always knew there was a little pirate in you." (OUAT quote)

Laurel didn't feel like smiling.

"I don't think this is a good idea," she told him honestly.

" _I'd have to agree with her,"_ Diggle's voice came through the comm link. He had been mysteriously quiet all this time, probably mulling over everything he thought might go wrong with Oliver's plan.

"Would you rather have her shoot up another drug lab?"

"I'd rather have her in custody," Canary shot back. "I really should hand over that picture. I don't like this. She's too... unpredictable. You saw what she did to the people in that lab. And the next day she shoots at Paul Copani in the middle of a busy plaza, nearly killing an innocent woman!"

Oliver gritted his teeth at the thought of his mother.

"I've killed," he defended weakly. "There is no difference between us. Isn't that what you were telling me when you compared me to Deadshot."

" _A comparison is not necessarily an equation,"_ Diggle remarked quietly, while Canary took a deep breath to answer.

"I said there were more similarities between the two of you than I am comfortable with and than _you should_ be comfortable with. And yes, of course there are similarities between yours and Helena's approach too, but you never killed scores of people in getting what you wanted – she's already put more people in the morgue last night than you have since you started. I've been doing this too long to be idealistic about death. If I only saw the world in black and white, would I have agreed to your compromise, do you think?!" It all spilled out of her in one angry rant and by the time she was done she was sucking in breath forcefully.

" _She'd have set a trap and handed you_ _r ass_ _over already."_ Oliver was starting to feel like Pinocchio with Jimminy Cricket in his ear.

"She's consumed by her hatred for her father. She has no boundaries; opening fire on the Queen Consolidated plaza proves as much."

"You're right; she harbors all this anger inside and has no outlet for it. She is lost," Oliver argues. "She needs help."

"What if she's beyond help?"

"What if she isn't? She came here to confront us; she must have known she couldn't take both of us on."

 _"Oh, I don't know. Guns tend to make people feel invincible and a sense of invincibility makes people do stupid things."_

"So, what, her coming here was a cry for help?! That's your argument? That's what you're gonna go with?!"

"You gave me a chance! You cut me some slack!"

"We just went over this; you never-" But she didn't finish that sentence. She quietened herself and took a moment to take stock of the situation. They were standing on a roof in the middle of the night, yelling at each other. Laurel sighed. This whole situation was ridiculous and as soon as she acknowledged that, she could help the snort that escaped her. Her joviality seemed contagious, because a moment later the Hood joined her with a low chuckle.

"Look at us. Our first real fight – with words instead of fists. Just like a couple."

"If the press could see us now..."

"We'll try it your way," Canary agreed softly. "But if she doesn't turn up at the legal aid office tomorrow, I'm taking her down. And I'm reserving the right to tell you 'I told you so'."

"So do I."

There was a brief silence, before Canary spoke again.

"...For what it's worth, I hope you get to say it."

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

"Rewind through the evening prior to the appearance of the Hood and that other guy. Let's see who was there that night," Quentin told their tech guy quietly. He kept his eyes glued to the screen as the images slowly rewound to show the busy restaurant before the attack. Lots of families and couples dining in Russo's cozy atmosphere. One couple in particular caught his eye and he told the technician to stop urgently. Pointing at the screen he had the guy enlarge the couple sitting in the top left corner, praying to himself that he was wrong about who he thought that was. Sure enough, when the image was suitably enlarged, he could clearly see Oliver Queen and Helena Bertinelli pleasantly dining not an hour before the attack on the restaurant.

"That son of a bitch," the detective cursed quietly. He kept looking at the screen as if he thought the image might change if he just glared at it hard enough. Then a thought came to him. Queen had been the first to spot the hooded vigilante when he conveniently rescued him and his dopey friend from their kidnappers. had also been curiously absent at the Exchange Building despite all his family being there. And he had been at Starling National when it had been robbed by the Royal Flush Gang.

The bank...

"Did CSI go through all the things found at Starling National in the wake of the robbery yet?"

"No," his partner Hinton answered. "After the Reston family was arrested with ample evidence, it was nudged down on their priority list."

"Show me the footage," he told the technician, who pulled it up. It was black and white unfortunately, but he could clearly make out Queen's suitcase as being light-colored and probably metal. "Print them a picture and have them go through the evidence until they find Queen's suitcase. I want them to go over it with a fine comb."

"Why?"

Quentin didn't answer as a burning suspicion settled in him.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

(CNRI, the next day)

Oliver made his way into the office space with measured steps. The moment he was through the door he looked around for Helena, but she wasn't there yet. Instead he spotted Laurel sitting hunched over some documents at her desk. Hers was one of the few desks still in use. He knew from the Declan case that she tended to work late, which is why he thought to summon Helena to CNRI at this hour, since most other employees would be gone by then. And in fact he couldn't even see Joana de la Vega anywhere in the office. Of course, neither was their quandary, but it wasn't quite five yet, so Helena still had some time. In the meantime, he had the perfect excuse to be there and wait for her, so he strolled over to Laurel's desk. She didn't notice him, even when he stood right beside it for almost a minute. He moved to look over her shoulder at her documents, making out something about a financial dispute, but his shifting caused his shadow to fall over the paper and made her finally notice him. Laurel started almost out of her chair, turning around hastily only to calm down when she realized it was him standing behind her.

"You scared me!"

"Sorry, didn't mean to." He smiled at her sheepishly. "Tough case?"

"Hmm, just the usual. Loan sharks operating in the Glades. What brings you here? If it's about my father..."

He held up a hand.

"I told you: in your own time," he assured her softly. As much as the curiosity burned inside him, he would stick by his word. If she needed more time, he would wait. "I'm here to follow up on the fund raiser. It got... well, sort of interrupted in the middle and I was wondering if it helped CNRI at all."

Laurel gave him a surprised, but pleased smile at his interest, making Oliver smile too. He may be using it as an excuse to wait at CNRI for Helena, but that didn't mean he wasn't honestly interested. He still felt bad about the way he had treated Laurel while she had been so concerned for her legal aid office, even though she forgave him, and he wanted to know if Tommy's and his efforts had born any kind of fruit. Otherwise, they'd just have to find another way or throw another fund raiser to make up for the first.

"Oh, yeah, it did actually. While there hadn't been that many donations yet until the shooting, Tommy's dad was there too. He agreed to tide us over until we can find a new sponsor or until Stagg Industries manages to get there money back from the court system."

"Didn't Tommy say all of Merlyn Global's humanitarian budget was already allocated?"

"Yeah, but Malcolm Merlyn is nominated for Starling's Humanitarian of the Year Award and Tommy managed to convince him that helping out a struggling legal aid office might earn him brownie points with the jury, so he increased the budget..."

"That's great!", Oliver said with a mix of genuine and fake cheer. So Tommy saved the day after all and judging by Laurel's beaming smile she was more than a little grateful. His gut stirred restlessly. Why did that bother him? "So, when do you think Stagg Industries might be able to sponsor you again?"

Laurel cast him an odd look.

"Not sure. Joana is sitting in on the Reston trial, though."

Oliver chuckled.

"I didn't know Stagg Industries had been hit so hard they need pro bono legal assistance."

Laurel hit him gently with the file in front of her.

"She'll be supporting their legal team to speed up the recovery of their funds. It shows Stagg Industries that we're interested in their affairs and not just in their money. Win-win."

They shared a smile.

"Excuse me," a new voice interrupted them. Oliver recognized Helena immediately and beamed at her.

"Helena, hi," he greeted her with a note of surprise. "Is everything alright?"

"Nice to see you again, Oliver. I was... I have a problem and someone suggested I come see Ms Lance about it... I'm Helena Bertinelli," she added as an afterthought.

Laurel and Oliver exchanged a look.

"Me? I mean..." She collected herself and started again. This was a role she had to play well. "I don't mean to be rude, but we're a legal aid office. We don't usually take cases if people can afford legal representation."

"I'm aware and I wouldn't come to you if I had any other option."

Unbeknown to each other, both Oliver and Laurel flinched internally at the jibe at their vigilante selves. They exchanged a glance.

"I... I guess listening won't hurt. If nothing else, I'm sure I can point you in the right direction."

She indicated the additional chair to the side of her desk and waited till Helena sat down. Oliver inquired quietly if he should leave, but neither woman indicated that they minded his presence, so he pulled up an additional chair from a nearby work station and joined them. Helena launched into a concise description of her father's criminal enterprise. Her voice was flat, likely still unconvinced that this was a good idea, even as her choice of words suggested a hope that CNRI might be able to help her. Oliver noted that, though she nodded politely at the right moments, Laurel didn't seem surprised in the least. Well, he guessed it was hardly a secret that the Bertinelli family was dirty. Helena then explained that she wanted her father's business taken down, but that so far no branch of law enforcement had either shown an interest in trying or had any success at it, so that these days there was no one who would even be willing to take on such a task.

"I was informed that you represented several plaintiffs against Martin Somers and Jason Brodeur, two of my father's acquaintances. CNRI seem to be the only ones to do that on a regular basis, so you were the only ones I could come see."

"Well, I can't try your father in a criminal court; I'm not a member of the District Attorney's office, but I could sue him over damages he caused others due to his criminal activity and that, in turn, could help jump-start the DA's office to do something about it."

Helena nodded slowly. Still not convinced.

"I would need to file a lawsuit on behalf of someone, though, so I would need a list of the people his criminal activities hurt in order to contact them and see if they're willing to join a lawsuit," Laurel explained apologetically. She may not be Helena's greatest fan – and she would have sworn that the woman wouldn't turn up today – but if she could provide her with a list of victims, she was more than willing to fight their corner. In fact, she'd jump at the chance, although Laurel had no doubt that Joana would have some things to say about that when she found out.

"There's a laptop... My father keeps it in a safe at home. I don't have the combination, though," Helena admitted quietly.

It was still something. If they could get their hands on that laptop, they could go ahead with the lawsuit and force the DA's hand to engage the Bertinelli family in criminal court.

"Well, if we can't get the information any other way, we need that laptop."

"...You really think you could take my father down-"

"On, not down. That's up to the DA, but with the right evidence and a client, I could certainly do some prime damage to his business. Redirect his profits to those he's hurt."

Helena studied Laurel for a long time. The woman in front of her didn't seem so tough, but there was a determination in her eyes that almost scared Helena. Suddenly, she looked straight back at the Bertinelli heiress.

"Please understand; we don't get many members of crime syndicates or their families in here hoping to 'take them down', so... I guess what I'm asking is why. Why do you want us to go after your father?"

Helena didn't respond at first and for a moment Laurel was sure that she wouldn't respond at all, but when she did, Helena revealed more than she probably intended.

"My reasons are my own, Ms Lance. Can you help me or not?"

Laurel gave her a measured look.

"You have to understand, though. If I go after your father's money and I'm successful, there... well, there might not be a lot left afterward." Laurel gave her an honest warning. First impressions aside, Helena should know what she was getting herself into.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

"I thought I might find you here," the Hood whispered as he crouched beside Helena in a small forested area close to her family home. She was in full gear; long black boots, form-fitted black pants and her dark purple overcoat. Her long hair had been tamed into a tight pony tail and the motorcycle helmet was lying on the ground next to her, one purple gloved hand resting on top of it with deceptive calm. He saw it clench as her body tensed, but she didn't turn to him, recognizing his voice. Instead she kept studying the guards parading over the grounds, checking their movements for weaknesses in the defensive pattern. The Hood cast a quick glance and could tell immediately that there was no way to pass them by unseen. Given the recent spree of killings, Bertinelli had probably beefed up on security. There were a lot more men than he would have expected even for a mob boss' home.

He turned to Helena to see if she had come to the same conclusion. There was a stubborn set to her jaw, determination shining in her eyes, but, thankfully, she remained hidden in the underbrush rather than drag them both into an impossible situation. He refrained from sighing in relief, not only because she was smart enough to pick her battles, but because he really didn't fancy having to explain this to Canary if it had gone south. The involuntary thought startled the archer only briefly before he shoved the other vigilante from his mind and refocused on the matter at hand.

"What did you come here for?"

She gave him a disdainful look.

"Evidence," was all the reply he got, but Oliver could imagine exactly what kind of evidence she was talking about. The computer she had mentioned to him and Laurel would put her father away for a very long time.

"You're not ready for that fight." The glare she gave him was menacing. "You need more training. Fighting isn't all about who hurts who the most; restraint is paramount. I can help."

Her glare turned calculating. She cast a look back at the guards, then him again. He had put equal amounts of steel and invitation in his voice. He hoped she understood that he truly wanted to help her, but also that he would stop her if she got overzealous. As she glanced at him, their eyes locked and the subtext that passed between them was a silent battle. She had not fully given up on putting her hands on the computer tonight, not until she turned without a word. He followed her quietly to where he had seen her motorcycle earlier, leaving his quickly by the roadside to prevent her from doing something stupid.

"Follow me," he told her and drove away. He wasn't sure she would follow him until she did.

" _When you say_ you _can help..."_ , he heard Diggle's quizzical voice through the ear piece.

"Stay where you are. I'm taking her to the beta site. I've got it set up."

" _You have a beta site?"_ Surprise, shock and a an undertone of irritation at not having been told. Oliver bit the insight of his cheek, but he would deal with Diggle's hurt feelings later.

"Later," he murmured, just to be clear.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Ted's gym, back room)_

"I don't trust Helena Bertinelli," was the first thing that came out of Laurel's mouth as she geared up for the night. She had been delayed at the office as she did some research into the Bertinelli family; not their crime syndicate but just family background. There wasn't much; the family had been in the US for generations and had begun building a business empire almost immediately. Interestingly it only turned criminal, as far as she could tell, when Frank Bertinelli's grandfather took over as boss. Beyond that, all she could find was that Helena's mother had died in a car cash when she was just eleven years old. Laurel had felt a pang of compassion for the young woman. She knew what it meant losing a loved one. There had been one more thing, though, and it had struck a chord with Laurel...

"Oh good, you're going back to not trusting murderers; or is it just her?", Ted replied, half irritated, half teasing.

"Ted..."

"We agreed I don't have to agree with your methods."

Laurel sighed. He had a point, of course. The Hood was a murderer. Maybe that was why she found it so irritating when he mentioned it. She wondered what she would do if their positions were reversed as she closed the last latch on her leg pouches and secured her three-piece stick. Carefully putting her hair up, she applied her usual goth make up. Her father had initially suggested it as a joke, because nobody would ever believe that it would be her under all that powder and dark lip stick. When she had actually made it part of her costume, he had just shaken his head and said that even her mother wouldn't recognize her. When she put on the bright blonde wig, she noticed Ted looking at her in the mirror.

"I've agreed to this to get Bertinelli, legally instead of having Helena try to murder him for the rest of their lives and to find out more about what pushed her into this in the first place. I'm not saying it's a smart plan, but it already bore fruits. I researched Helena's family this afternoon and found a few obscure articles about her. They mention a man she was seeing, a member of her father's organization. There was speculation as to whether or not it was serious and what Frank Bertinelli's reaction might be. There wasn't much, though. It stopped after only a few reports."

"And?"

"I got a name; Michael Staton. I want you to dig into him. See what happened to him. If her father forced a breakup..."

"We are talking about a grown woman, not a teenager throwing a temper tantrum," Ted pointed out."

"Hell hath no fury...", Laurel said with a pointed look to the pictures from the drug lab, blood and gore littering the building.

"Good point. I'll look into it."

"Thanks," she replied. "Anything from our friend on the Hood."

"Nothing so far, but you know how he is. Why? Something new come up?"

Laurel bit her lip. She wasn't looking forward to the 'I told you so' she would probably get once she told him. It wasn't definitive proof, of course, but it did make Ted's theory seem more and more likely.

"Oliver was there. He came by CNRI to check on how the fund-raising night at his place went, but... well, it was right around the time Helena was meant to show up, and did."

Ted was quiet for a minute. He studied her face. Laurel looked... almost disappointed that evidence against Oliver Queen was accumulating. He wondered if she had formed some kind of attachment since bringing him back to life. Maybe a reverse Stockholm syndrome. He mentally shook his head. Even Ted had to admit that Queen could probably be charming; he may act like a playboy, but he'd always been a likable one as far as the press was concerned (and ignoring one incident of attacking a photographer). Plus, he'd been there when Laurel was attacked in her apartment and if he really was the Hood, then that likely wasn't a coincidence either. Then again, it could be something sadder. Could he imagine Laurel trying to befriend Queen to be closer to Sara, he wondered.

"You have to admit," he started diplomatically, "those are rather a few coincidences."

"Yes... Let's keep digging." She didn't sound overly enthusiastic even to herself.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Beta site)_

"We're here," the Hood said out loud as he led Helena into a spacious room, so that both she and Diggle heard him. The room had sparse lighting and even less furniture. There were two tables, one of which had a computer set up, the other was loaded with two rows of his custom arrows and one closed metal box. On top of that was a small first aid kit and a basket of tennis balls. The room contained nothing that could trace back to Oliver or Diggle.

" _Do you really think this is a good idea?"_ , Diggle asked through the coms.

"As opposed to what?," he asked lowly while Helena acquainted herself with her surroundings.

" _Ol- Hood, she's a murderer. And unlike you, she has shown little regard for how many innocent people might get hurt in her vendetta-"_

"She has shown remorse."

" _Doesn't mean she wouldn't do the exact same thing again anyway."_

Oliver grunted quietly in dissent.

"I don't know what motivates her, but this is more than just a bit of revenge for her; she's on a mission, but she's lost. I can help her."

" _Like the Canary is helping you?"_

Oliver physically recoiled at the statement, shocked at how deeply it cut him, but not understanding why. It was as if Diggle had hit a healing wound, but Oliver couldn't quite place it. He neither needed nor wanted Canary's help; he merely tolerated it when it was offered. As he had told Diggle when the bodyguard had accepted to help him; he wasn't looking for salvation and had no intention of surviving his crusade. He only had to live long enough to see it through, but Helena could be different. She was hurt, he could tell and somehow that had led her to seek justice through vengeance. Pain could be healed, guilt was everlasting. She could fight this battle and survive. She just needed a bit of instruction.

A soft creaking noise diverted his attention, but he closed the channel to Diggle anyway to be on the safe side. It wouldn't do for Helena to hear him arguing with his partner. Looking up Oliver saw that Helena had made her way over to the closed metal case. She had removed the first aid kit and the basket and opened the case, staring at the content in surprise. She picked up one of the small crossbows and turned around to him, posing with it. A wicked grin spread across her face.

"I would try flowers instead, but these are certainly original... And so you!," she quipped sarcastically at him.

"A gun is an amateur's choice," he replied icily. "Anyone can pull a trigger. The bow requires precision and patience. Archery is an art, but you would need to develop your arm and chest muscles before you could successfully use a bow. These will do for now."

He moved forward, taking a tennis ball and throwing it to the ground, waiting for it to bounce off before pulling out an arrow and nailing it to the wall. He invited her to throw another one, which he also hit square in the middle. Then he handed her the bow and suggested she try to hit one of the two balls already stuck to the wall. He could see that Helena found it difficult to keep the string taught. It required the use of muscles she had rarely needed to exercise so much before. She managed to take a shot, but it lacked precision. Still, he made her try a few more times, just to teach her how to breathe calmly and let the breathing technique calm her in return. Then he pointed to the crossbow. Helena's shots were slightly more successful after that. She still needed some training in how to aim – not that he was surprised given her actions with her guns – but over the course of their training session she became calm enough to steadily follow the movement of a ball even if that didn't mean she always hit it.

He let her continue on her own for a bit, while he pulled up a few puzzle pieces on her father's organization. He noticed when she shifted her attention from target practice to watching him stare at the computer. Replacing the crossbow into the box, she came up behind him just as he was looking at a list of suspected associates, trying to figure out what might make a good training target for them. He knew that Helena wouldn't stand for being cooped up in here and there were benefits to a learning-by-doing approach that he himself had experienced on the island. One never invests as much in training as one gives in a situation where the danger is real and breathing down one's neck. It helped, of course, that Slade had been a sadistic bastard even before...

As Oliver shook his head free, Helena pointed at a name on the list.

"I know this one – Anthony Venza – he sells illegal prescription pills for my father."

"Then we'll take him off the street," Oliver commented mildly, "but we'll do it my way."

"Oh, is there going to be a written test too? Cause, I haven't studied ye-"

The Hood rounded on her, grabbing her by her shoulders, hard enough to hurt her.

"Remember the deal-"

Helena wrenched herself free.

"I kept up my end; I went to that stupid legal aid office, but they can't do anything!"

"Well, I'm adding an amendment."

"You can't just-"

"If you'd rather try your luck with the police..."

Helena scoffed. She was going to call his bluff.

"I'd lead them straight here."

"Do that; all this will be gone and you'll have an arrow in your chest." His voice had lowered another octave until she looked suitably frightened. There was still an air of rebellion around her, but he let it go for now. "Instead of ending your crusade, as Black Canary no doubt intended, I'm willing to help you bring it to a close, but on my terms!"

The next week was spent either training at his beta site or going on what he defined as training missions. His family saw even less of him than usual and when he and Diggle went to the club, which he used as an excuse, Oliver barely stayed long enough to get changed. The missions, meanwhile, went surprisingly well. Helena may have accepted his directive of restraint only begrudgingly, but even she had to appreciate the amount of collateral damage caused to her father's business by subsequent police investigations when they had a few witnesses left to talk to. Despite the Huntress' – as she called herself – new restraint, Diggle still eyed their progress warily and from a distance. He monitored their actions through the news and social media, but maintained that their was an unresolved fire in Helena, driving her, that the bodyguard suspected would ultimately lead to disaster. The more Diggle talked about it, the more it nested itself in Oliver's subconscious, but he was determined to try and help Helena. After all, if he could change, so could she. He stubbornly refused to acknowledge that it might be the other way around as his partner suggested once.

He could feel Black Canary's disapproval as well. She never interfered with their fights and didn't try to talk him out of it, but sometimes he could feel her presence on his training missions. Though Helena was oblivious, he felt Canary's gaze on them like little pinpricks in his back. He had tried to look around for her, but she was good at vanishing into the background and so he never found her unless she wanted him to. He felt the weight of her gaze when they took down Venza at the end of the week; he'd saved the most personal issue for last to see how Helena would react. She taunted Venza with the promise of violence and he could tell she would relish it, but she did not actually hurt the man after he surrendered and the Hood breathed a sigh of relief. Nonetheless, he felt Canary's gaze heavily on them as they sat on a roof opposite the crime scene that police were now storming. He and Helena were discussing the efficacy of his tactics and Oliver was trying to coax her into admitting that their restraint worked better than blind vengeance, both for the criminals and for themselves, when his awareness of her presence suddenly skyrocketed.

He turned around quickly, but inconspicuously so as not to alert the police. He didn't bother to raise his bow; he had no intention of fighting her. His eyes scanned the darkness until he spotted her. She stood several feet away, arms crossed over her chest and a scowl on her face. Apparently, she had finally decided to confront them. When Helena noticed her, she made to grab one of her crossbows, but the Hood stretched out a hand to warn her away from the action. He didn't want her to pick a fight, so instead he approached Black Canary, thus positioning himself between the two women. Canary cocked her head at the action, keeping Helena in her line of sight until she removed her hand from the crossbow. Then she asked her politely if she could have a few minutes with their mutual acquaintance. Oliver looked between the two women, but Helena acquiesced without argument, only snorting before she made her way back to where their bikes were hidden in a small alleyway. The Hood and the Canary watched her go, maintaining the silence for a minute.

"If you're here to tell me this wasn't part of the deal-"

"You don't give a shit, yeah, I noticed," she cut him off and he was somewhat surprised at how calm she sounded, despite the venom in her voice. He sighed; this would be a long discussion. "All I want to know is what you're trying to accomplish?"

"Same as you. Mold her."

She opened her mouth to retort, but this time he didn't let her speak.

"Let's not pretend that's not exactly what you're trying to to with me. Mold me in your image of what a vigilante should be. And what?! It's only okay for you to manipulate someone?! Because you can make us all better?!," he snorted derisively. So much for not wanting to fight. Maybe this had been brewing in him long enough and now it just needed out! They had been moving toward this since their first meeting. "Sanctimonious bitch!"

"That's enough!", she growled back at him. "You know nothing of me, nothing of what I've been through or what I've done! But you knew what you were getting yourself into by compromising with me. You knew I would never tolerate a remorseless killer, not after everything I've done to protect this city before you and your crusade came along. And I will continue to protect Starling long after you're gone..." She paused briefly as if awaiting his response, but no doubt she knew that he wouldn't have one. "That's right, isn't it? Whenever you're done with your little vendetta, you'll creep back into the public life from which you came and to hell with all the innocent people in Starling who'll still suffer, still fall victim to crime!"

They both panted quietly from their anger at one another.

"And I'm not judging you, or telling you not to go along with this impromptu plan. I asked you why, because I'm not sure Helena can be helped – as I already told you – and because you apparently forgot to ask yourself one very important question."

"And what's that?", he bit out, seething.

"What if instead of making her better, she makes you worse?"

With that she turned on her heels and walked off into the night. Oliver watched her for a moment; her words and Diggle's and his own doubts swirling in his head as he watched her retreating back until she melted into the darkness. He was still breathing with effort, trying to sort out his thoughts and feelings. Now that the fight was over, part of him – the part that wasn't still consumed by coiling rage at Canary's presumption – regretted ever raising his voice and fighting with her. That had not been how he had wanted to have this conversation. In the most quiet moments, he had hoped for her assistance in guiding the Huntress' career as a vigilante, helping her take down her father's criminal empire. Well, he could probably just forget about it now, but he'd give her another couple of days to calm down before letting Helena take on her family home. He had noticed her getting restless over the week. Her training wasn't completed by far, but Oliver had a feeling she might be more open to further training if she had accomplished her goal. Or she might retire. In either case, she wouldn't put innocents at risk anymore...

He hoped.

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"There you are, sir, I've been looking for you... I got that report back that you asked for. You won't believe it..."

He took the papers the other man gave him and flew over them. Then his fist clenched around the documents, half in anger and half in triumph.

"We've got him."

Before he could answer the man, all hell broke loose.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

Laurel might have howled in frustration as she put some much-needed distance between herself and that green menace. Leprechaun. Goblin! She wanted to go back and tear his eyes out, since he apparently couldn't see with them anyway. She also wanted to go back and make a peace offering and maybe they could sit down and talk it through more calmly and she could tell him she admired that he wanted to help Helena and she probably should have led with that... She sighed. Her thoughts were a swirling mess inside her. She couldn't really make herself focus on any one for an extended amount of time right now, not long enough to come up with a solution anyway. She needed a long, hot bath and a glass of wine; instead she had an entire night's patrol in front of her and she refused to bail out on her city just because she was feeling cranky. Rubbing her temples, she decided to put the issue out of her mind for now. She would revisit it with Ted once the night was over and she'd had any amount of-

Sirens wailed past beneath where she had stopped on a fire escape to calm off and think things through. She watched quietly as three police cars, coming from the direction of the lab the Hood and his new comrade had raided, sped across the empty street at breakneck speed even for an emergency. There had been only five regular police cars at the lab, which made her wonder what kind of catastrophe could have made them divert those particular cars somewhere else while an investigation into the vigilante activity was still taking place. These days, even murders didn't always rank higher than the appearance of her or the Hood – or the other one. Laurel froze for a moment, trying to imagine a scenario, but the only thing she could come up with would be that the gang war they had all tried to prevent had indeed broken out. Scrambling to her feet, she opened her commlink to Ted.

"What happened?!"

"I'm not sure, but the police is in a frenzy. There seems to have been some kind of incident in Chinatown... If Bertinelli retaliated against the Triads, because he suspected them to have a hand in the attacks on his operations..."

"It's war. The Triads will end him, given half the chance. See if you can reach dad, maybe he has some info," she suggested, hearing a cell phone go off in the background.

"No need; that's him. Connecting you now."

"Dad?"

" _Are you in Chinatown?!",_ Quentin demanded to know right away.

"No, I'm-"

" _Good. Stay away. It's not safe."_

"If Bertinelli was involved, nowhere is safe. What happened?"

" _..."_ The moment of silence told her more than he probably wanted her to know, but he told her the rest anyway. _"It's a bloody massacre. Every kitchen, every gambling ring, every shabby business the Triads run has been hit. There are bodies everywhere, mostly Chinese, but some Caucasians too. We've identified two of them as Bertinelli's enforcers and if we have, you can bet the Triads have noticed too... Now they're licking their wounds and preparing, but come tomorrow, nowhere is safe anymore."_

"Then we need to end this tonight. Can you get police officers over to Bertinelli's place in, say, forty-five minutes?"

" _You're not going-"_

"-alone? Don't worry. See you in forty-five!", she told him and hung up. Then she pulled the Hood's cell phone out of her pouch, but hesitated. She was really not in the mood to ask him for help, but taking the Bertinelli residence on her own would just be stupid. All the guards on special alert and probably in a blood frenzy because of the Chinatown massacre, plus a potential show of the Triads made it suicide to try on her own. And Helena was the only one who knew where the computer was located. She knew all this and yet her fingers still hovered over the keyboard.

"I can't believe I'm the one to say this, but... we need him, call him," came Ted's long-suffering voice. Despite the begrudging resignation it carried, it gave Laurel the jolt she needed to send the Hood all the necessary details and tell him to be there in ten. She was not asking for anything; she was telling. Then, she made her own way to the Bertinelli mansion. She hoped to find it mostly intact, but she could see she was already too late. The guardsmen at the front gate were down and she could hear shooting from the grounds. The Triads had obviously bounced back faster than expected. Perhaps not enough of their soldiers had been hit, but rather only their businesses themselves? It didn't matter; one way or another there would be another massacre tonight if they didn't stop it.

Where was the Hood when she needed him?

Hearing more gunfire, Laurel decided to go ahead. The situation was deteriorating fast and it couldn't wait. Ted protested emphatically, but they both knew it was true. There would be no one left to save if they waited any longer. The Hood and his partner would just have to join her as soon as they arrived. Time for him to follow her into battle, she chuckled humorlessly. Making her way across the grounds, she met no resistance. Canary stopped here and there to check on a man on the ground, but, true to expectation, they were all dead. Again, Chinese and Caucasian alike; only the ratio was inverted this time. The front door was guarded, but the Triad's watchdog was facing the inside, probably to prevent anyone from fleeing the house alive that way. Making her way quietly across the grass, he didn't notice her until she had a foot in the back of his knee to bring him down and smacked a baton against the side of his head. He lost consciousness almost instantly.

She quickly took the machine gun, when sudden footsteps brought her out of her reverie. She looked up to find another Triad member standing over her. She should shoot him, she knew that, but she couldn't pull the trigger. Panic rose within her at the thought of dying. She was hot and cold; the pumping of her blood sounded deafening in her ears. She wasn't ready yet! Not yet! Not like this! Not like this! There was a gurgling sound and a thump as the man fell over backward with an arrow and two small bolts in his chest. Canary looked around to see a concerned Hood rushing toward her, unfortunately followed by a triumphant looking Helena. Before Canary could fall prey to the temptation of punching that smirk off the other woman's face, the green-clad vigilante was crouched at her side.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah."

"No thanks to her own efforts."

Both Canary and the Hood shot her nasty glares.

"You should have pulled the trigger. That hesitation will get you killed, and we won't always be there to save your sorry ass."

Canary was on her feet and the Hood followed suit, holding a hand up to each woman to avoid a fight.

"I guess killing doesn't come as easily to me as it does to others," Canary finally replied icily. She turned to the Hood before she went on more amicably. "But I am grateful that you, both of you, saved my life."

"You're welcome," he replied hastily before Helena could say something else, then he rushed both women into the house. "Where's the safe?"

"Ground floor, underneath the bar."

"We'll take it. Can you...?"

"I'll deal with the Triads upstairs," Canary completed his sentence and disappeared. Oliver let her go with mixed feelings. She had proven more than adept at fighting, but he had to agree with Helena that her unwillingness to do what was necessary, even to protect herself, placed her at a distinct disadvantage. Still, if Helena was to open the safe, or make sure her father did it for them, she needed him more to have her back than he suspected Canary did or wanted right at that moment. So, fighting down the unease, he followed Helena through the house. Bertinelli's men were fighting the Triads and they were both fighting him and Huntress, so the two of them took them down without hesitation or preference, though he did try to prevent them from harming each other if possible. By the time they made it to the safe, he was running low on arrows and the safe was already empty. Oliver growled; this was not going according to plan – then again, their plan had been rather hotchpotch after the unexpected text and he really hadn't wanted to do this with the Triads here.

He was about to ask Helena where her father might have gone to take cover in this situation when he noticed a form approaching them from behind in the broken pieces of mirror from the bar. The picture was to fractured to recognize who it was, but Oliver quickly grasped a small, mostly intact bottle and threw it at the men as he turned. His distraction allowed Helena to turn around and kick the gun out of the man's hand, then pull him forward to smash her forehead against his nose and break it. Stumbling backward, the man managed to grasp hold of Helena's long hair, making her screech at the sudden pain as she moved with him. His back ended up against a pillar and Oliver was about to notch an arrow onto the bow when the man quickly recovered, pulling Helena in by her hair and ripping the mask off that Oliver had provided for her. Next thing they knew he punched his boss' daughter in the gut, turned her around and placed a knife at her throat, close enough to draw a line of blood.

"You traitorous cunt! I knew it was someone from the inside waging war against your father and me, I just never thought it would be this inside!", he hissed at her ear. "How does it feel to betray your own family? Your own father?"

"He betrayed me first," she managed.

"How did he betray you, huh? You spoiled bitch! He gave you everything"

"No, he took everything!", she roared at him and Oliver could see more blood trickling down her throat from where she strained against his hold. "He took Michael. My father had him murdered."

The man laughed.

"Of course he did," he chuckled maliciously back at her. "He didn't want you to know the truth... that your rat of a fiancé was gathering evidence. He was talking to the feds. The love of your life was going to destroy your father."

"You're wrong," Helena mumbled more quietly. There was a note of defeat on her, devastation mixing with her anger to create something even more dangerous. Oliver only hoped he could contain it.

"Found a laptop in Michael's bag, Helena, containing all the evidence. Everything that could send your father and me to prison forever was on it. That computer-"

"Was mine!", she cried at him. "Michael wasn't the one talking to the FBI, I was. My father is a monster, who doesn't care who he hurts to keep his money and power and I wanted it to stop."

"Then it's your fault, isn't it? That Michael is dead; not your father for ordering the hit, or me for carrying it out-" He turned her around to look at her face. "-yours."

"You shot Michael," she asked quietly, barely acknowledging the knife he'd placed under her chin.

"Right in the chest," he gloated. "So he knew it was me. Just like you'll-"

Before he could finish the sentence, a crash from the atrium distracted them. Them being Oliver and the mobster, because Helena used the moment to rip an arm free and bat away the knife. It caused another cut but she didn't care. As blood dripped to the ground, she broke his wrist over her thigh and then proceeded to knee her assailant in the stomach repeatedly. Oliver left her only for a moment to check no further mobsters were approaching them after the ruckus. He rounded the corner to the atrium arrow notched and ready to fire only to find it deceptively quiet. There was a Chinese mobster sprawled head down across the stairs and another hung over the railing, no doubt Canary's fine handiwork. No gunshots could be heard from above, so he figured she was either done or... He preferred not to think about that. Where was she if there was no one else to fight upstairs. He moved to the other side of the stairs to avoid the unconscious man as he ascended when he noticed more bodies on the ground next to them, previously hidden. A mop of white hair identified China White, but the body on top of her made his heart skip a beat.

He crouched beside Black Canary for the second time that day. He couldn't see any blood, but it was clear that the impact on the ground had hit her hard even though he suspected with a glance to the upper level that she'd used China White to cushion her fall. As he touched her shoulder, she grunted in pain, but finally rolled off of her opponent and put a hand up to indicate that she was, mostly, fine. The man Helena was fighting came stumbling backward into the atrium. He fell onto the ground. After a moment orientating himself, he scrambled for the man flung across the stairs to grab his gun. Oliver had little doubt that Helena wanted to kill the man with her bare hands, but he shuddered to think how that might change her. So he aimed his arrow at the man's back from his crouched position and shot him. When he fell dead before Helena, she screeched angrily at him, running over to grab him by the collar. One hand moved around his throat, blocking his wind pipe. Oliver didn't fight her; he knew better than to fight in this situation.

"WHY would you do that! You had NO RIGHT! HE KILLED MICHAEL! He was mine, mine... Mine!"

On the last possessive reiteration, the scream turned into a wail, her anger into grief. She collapsed into him, sobbing loudly. All Oliver could do was hold her.

"Bertinelli?", Canary whispered from his side, so as not to disturb Helena. That was the most consideration either woman would likely show the other in a while and he took it as a win, but could only shake his head.

"And the safe?"

"Empty."

"Hmm, guess this isn't the last we've seen of him then... or your Purple Avenger...", she sighed as if resigned to accept Helena's interference.

"Huntress," he corrected quietly. Approaching sirens made them all scramble to their feet. Canary's body clearly protested the hasty movement and, instead of just his arms full of one woman (who was thankfully beginning to calm down), he now also had her hand on his shoulder to support her weight while she regained her equilibrium. He felt a bit like a piece of inventory. Canary even patted him on the shoulder like a good boy after she'd found her footing.

"Either way, my point still stands. One rampage, one drop of innocent blood... I'll hand her over to the cops."

Oliver's jaw set, recalling their earlier argument, but he nodded his understanding.

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 _(Queen Mansion)_

Walter's body felt like lead as he slowly made his way into the house. He fumbled with the door knob a few times, because his hands, oh heck, all of him still felt numb. To be honest he had felt that way since he had finally made it to the address Felicity Smoak had given him the other day. Between the charity gala, the attack that had hospitalized his wife and poor Teddy Reston's death on their front lawn, it had taken a back seat. Then he had decided to let Moira come to him, but today his curiosity had been stronger than his will. He thought it might help him understand better, or at least that was how he had justified further prying into his wife's affairs. But what he had found at the warehouse, had blown him away. His mind blanked at the sight of the Queen's Gambit, so that for a moment he didn't realize what he was looking at even though it was painfully obvious. If Moira had salvaged the yacht in secret, then its sinking was no act of God. And if Moira had known to keep it a secret-

Before he could finish that thought, the doorbell rang. As he was still in the atrium anyway, he made his way over to open, only to find himself face to face with Detective Lance, his partner and several heavily armed police officers. The detective breezed past him without so much as a greeting, followed on his heels by the half dozen officers he had brought with him. Now that they had come inside, Walter could see that they and the two detectives were all wearing bulletproof vests and the uniformed officers had brought semi-automatic rifles rather than just their handguns. Walter opened his mouth to question the intrusion, but before he could utter a word, Lance was hollering for his stepson.

"What the hell is this, Detective?!", Walter barked at the police officer angrily.

"This," he replied, smacking a folded piece of paper into his hands, "is a warrant for the arrest of one Oliver Queen- ah, glad you could join us..."

Walter followed the detective's line of sight to where Oliver was just entering the atrium. He was instantly grabbed by two officers while the other four surrounded him with their weapons at the ready. Walter could hear several safeties cock, but thankfully Oliver posed no resistance.

"On what charges?", he asked instead, incredulously.

"Multiple counts of murder, aggravated assault, vandalism – oh yeah, and my personal favorite, vigilantism. Book him."

 **End of chapter 6!**

 **A/N:** So, Helena's father is in the wind for the time being and she's sticking around a bit longer. She will stay on as a recurring character for a bit longer, 'cause I really thought they did her a bit of a disservice in the series. She won't be the main focus, but she'll develop in a different direction with Oliver and Laurel. She certainly provides tension...

And, as I promised, we'll get back to the events of 'Damaged' in the next chapter, where Quentin finally gets a shot at Oliver and we learn more about Sara. Are you looking forward to it?


	7. Chapter 7

**Guardian Angels**

 **Summary:** AU/ After five years in hell, Oliver Queen has returned home with only one goal – to save his city. Unfortunately, nobody told him he'd have to wait in line.

 **A/N  
**

 **Guest ("** **Seems a very anti-Oliver fic** **"):** I'm interested to know what, specifically, you are referring to. For now I'll answer as best as I can to what I think you addressed. The story occurs in a world where other heroes/vigilantes exist, such as Black Canary, Wildcat and Batman. They, I think, would take exception to some of Oliver's morally questionable decisions. And in the first season there were quite a few of those, to which I, too, took exception even though I liked the show. To me, liking the show does not mean I should gloss over the fact that Oliver is a pretty terrible person in this season (he is a murderer and liar, foremost), even though he good intentions and even a titular character needs to be called out on it when he's wrong (in my opinion and obviously I don't speak for everybody). That doesn't make me or the characters I portray right, but it offers an alternative way to look at Oliver's actions and choices. On the other hand, Canary's more idealistic approach certainly shows signs of naivety, for example, as well as a good bit of hypocrisy (given her willingness to hurt people if not to kill them outright). I'm trying to depict the characters as more ambiguous and engage with that ambiguity.

 **CraaazyaboutMalfoy** **:** Thank you. I'm really glad you enjoy reading the story. And no worries, I have zero intention of bashing Felicity. Because, while I can honestly say that I'm not partial to Olicity, I do love her character from the first and second season. In recent episodes, I think the writers have done her a great disservice. They made her into a character I will admit I don't like as much anymore, but it's wrong to blame either the character or the actress for that. I fully place the blame on the writers and no matter how far this story goes, I want to keep Felicity as a smart, witty character with overall moral integrity (even if I may sprinkle a little darkness in there eventually, because I think it makes for more realistic characters). I have to say I find her a bit hard to write at times, because her quick-thinking humorous quips don't come natural to me, but those are actually one of the things I like most about her.

 **Chapter 7: In dubio pro rheo**

Laurel had to admit, she was being a bit rough. So far Ted had not said a word about the recent news reports that had reported Oliver Queen's arrest. He hadn't gloated, he hadn't told her he'd told her so, he hadn't so much as mentioned it to her in passing, but there was something inside her. It burned and boiled in her gut and demanded an outlet and Laurel couldn't prevent it from showing during training. She was a tight ball of pent-up energy. She didn't even notice the minutes tick by or feel the burn of exhaustion in her muscles as she continued pounding every inch of surface she could reach. Her mind was locked onto the images from the breaking news cycle that had greeted her when she'd walked into CNRI and had been replaying nonstop since this morning. The Oliver in the footage appeared shocked, but resigned and much too calm for such serious charges. He coolly stated his innocence, but otherwise refrained from commenting. Which didn't help her confusion; the arrest seemed to confirm all of their suspicions, but some legitimate questions she had posed to Ted remained unanswered. When she thought about it, the mess this created in the lives of everybody she held close, anger lashed through her like a whip, making her growl and let loose a series of uncoordinated punches. Clumsy, feeble attacks that left her even more frustrated, despite the satisfying crunching noise they caused on impact until she let out a scream Laurel didn't know she'd been holding and marched away to get her water bottle. Not bothering to drink from it, she just emptied the whole thing over her head hoping it would cool down more than just her sweaty body.

"Wow," Ted said quietly, looking at the prominent rip in the punching bag. "I'm glad I didn't step in the ring with you."

She just looked at him.

"If you're done destroying my equipment, I'd ask how you feel, but I think that's painfully obvious," he continued. Sitting down next to her, he took hold of her left hand. She flinched away at the sudden contact, but Ted calmly repeated the motion. He unwrapped the training bandages from her hands to check for bruising. The skin underneath was chaffed a little. It would regenerate in no time at all, so when he applied some ointment, it was mostly out of habit. He saw her face screw up at the touch on the raw part of her hand, but she didn't try to move away again and let him do the same for her other hand. He grabbed another bottle of water and handed it to her without a word, waiting until she had finally gulped it down before addressing the elephant in the room. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

"Not really."

She looked at him again.

"But I feel we're about to regardless."

Ted smiled sheepishly.

"Well, our nocturnal friend finally got back to me. He hacked the hospital database and got us a copy of Queen's medical records... He also told me not to bother him for something so trivial again, or else."

Laurel snorted. She'd heard that line of argument before from him, but in the end he always did come through, no matter how much he complained. Mind you, he always did the bare minimum, because his own cases were arguably more important. As a consequence, Laurel had little doubt that he'd only handed over the file with no further comments or hints, although he'd probably have a few choice deductions for them if he were invested in their little quarry. She smiled slightly; she kinda liked that he didn't hand them everything in a neat package. Partially because him pretty much always being right and unfortunately having the ego that comes with that got annoying real quick, but also because she liked to do her own work.

"And?"

"Judging by the amount of injuries and the places in which some of them are found, I think it's unlikely those are all from accidents or self-harm." He produced the printed out copy of the files and directed her attention to a chart that indicated position and appearance of scars – or rather, charts as they had needed several to take note of all of the pathologies. Laurel grimaced; Oliver's front and back were covered in scars. Some smaller ones may have stemmed from accidents, but some of the big ones would have killed him without medical attention. Ted pointed at a medium-sized on in the stomach. "The edges are sharp, precise. The Doctor's concluded that it had to have been done with a knife or, given the size, a sword of some kind."

"Someone did this to him..."

"Looks like it," Ted agreed. "And if there were swords and other people on that island, your question of where he got the bow and how he learned to use it becomes a lot less difficult to answer."

"But why teach him to fight f you're torturing him?"

Ted shrugged.

"Maybe an initiation rite. Or he fell out of favor. Here, look," he told her, sifting through the papers to another set of charts. These ones didn't identify injuries, but covered his body in various rough designs. "They also made note of Queen's tattoos."

He let her look them over before continuing.

"Even if we suppose he had some of them before the island, this one is definitely new," Ted argued, indicating a star symbol on his chest. Laurel couldn't suppress the gasp when she truly took it in for the first time. Glancing over the images, she hadn't paid it much mind – lots of people had star tattoos – but now that she focused on it, the cops daughter and lawyer in her couldn't help but identify it.

"Bratva," she murmured. "Do you think they were the people with him on the island? It would explain how he got the tattoo and the scars – Bratva trials can be excessively brutal."

Ted nodded pensively.

"It's possible. In any case, he didn't just pick this up at the local tattoo parlor at the Beijing airport. For however long or short, he was a member of the Russian mob. I'll do some more digging to see if I can turn anything up on his time with them-"

"-and if he's still a member," Laurel finished his unfinished sentence. She nodded quietly. This was a game changer. If Oliver had been a member of Bratva, even just to survive, it would certainly give him the physical and mental ability to kill. The Russian mob usually preferred more modern weapons than a bow, but if they wanted to throw somebody off the scent, the Hood was a good way to do it. So far the vigilante had had skirmishes with the Mafia, the Triads and American crime bosses. He hadn't so much as touched the Russian part of the Glades, which would make sense if they had created him to drive the others out of business.

"Moira Queen came to CNRI today," Laurel suddenly blurted out.

"Huh? Why?", came Ted's startled reply.

"She told me Oliver wanted me to defend him."

For a moment, there was nothing but silence .

"You told her no, right?", Ted asked slowly as if he doubted her sanity.

"Of course I told her no; my father is the arresting officer. The conflict of interest alone could come back to bite us both," she bristled, offended. Ted raised his hands in a placating gesture and waited for her to calm down. He almost missed her mumble. "Now I'm not so sure."

"...You've gotta be kidding me."

"Think about it, Ted. If it is him, what better way to get answers than to get close."

Ted opened his mouth to reply; there were a million brilliant arguments why this was a horrible idea, but looking at her curious face he knew they would all fall on deaf ears. She was somewhere between denial and determination. She wanted the Hood to reveal himself, but she also wanted Oliver to be innocent. Ted's gut twisted at the hurt it would cause when she finally had to admit that both just wasn't possible. He sighed inwardly. Sometimes he wished he had talked her out of the Black Canary gig altogether, other times he wished she would listen to him more often, but then he always realized that she wouldn't be Laurel if she didn't go her own way. Even if that way drove him and her father around the bend. All he really could do is support her and be there to pick up the pieces when Oliver Queen's actions made her fall apart. Again.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Court)_

"Mr Queen, I see you have come without a defense attorney," the judge surmised incredulously. "Do you think that wise?"

Oliver got up.

"I'm innocent and the trial will prove it."

The judge looked at him for a long moment as if wanting to add something else. Perhaps order a psych evaluation, but ultimately acquiesced.

"Then we'll consider that your plea... Now, on the matter of bail."

"Your honor, the Queen family has practically unlimited resources, including two private plane. No matter how high we set bail at, there is virtually no amount they couldn't pay. We therefore ask that bail be denied-"

"Then it's a good thing that the prosecution's case is so circumstantial," a new voice rang out through the court room as Laurel confidently walked to Oliver's side, despite the dozens of cameras snapping pictures of her. Oliver scooted over without a word, but his smirk made her lightly step on his foot to remind him defendants of murder cases shouldn't grin in court. "Dinah Laurel Lance, your honor, presenting myself on behalf of the defendant. My client should not be denied his right to bail based on his financial background."

"Your honor," the prosecutor cut in. "Did I mention the two private planes and seven international residences of the Queen family, several of which are located in countries with no extradition treaties with the United States. If we let Mr Queen go, there is no guarantee he will turn up for the trial."

"Which is why Mr Queen is willing to hand his passport over to the court authorities and wear a tracking device on his ankle while confined to home arrest."

Oliver had been following the verbal sparring match with nothing short of delight. Not only had Laurel agreed to defend him, possibly planing the way for his plans to get her father to drop the charges. She was also quite the sight to behold when in court. He had seen her during his revival trial, of course, as well as a few times on television when she'd handled important cases, but to see her truly in her element was something else altogether. There was a subtle tension in her posture, but she radiated self-assurance as she struck down every argument made by the prosecution. However, when he heard her make an offer to confine him to the Queen residence, he felt he needed to step in. A tracking device; he needed freedom of movement.

"Whoa, hold on there-"

"Under these terms, I think the flight risk can be considered minimal," Judge Moss spoke over him. "I'll therefore set bail at five million dollars."

A strike of the hammer and it was over. The court room quickly and noisily emptied itself of most of its audience. Members of the press all wanted to get the news out as fast as possible of this incredible turn of events. The daughter of the arresting detective had just gotten the potential serial killer bail after all; the detective in question left as well, though not without casting his daughter a dark look. Oliver winced. He hadn't really considered the damage he might do to their relationship with his request to have Laurel represent him.

"Thank you for coming to save my ass."

"I told you: infinitely worth saving," she quipped back.

"I'm sorry about any problems I have just caused with your father," was the next thing he said. Maybe he should have led with that. Her face twisted into a frown as she looked at her shoes and Oliver raised a hand to her shoulder. He squeezed gently in a way he hoped would comfort her, but when she looked up to give him a small smile he was distracted. Over her shoulder he noticed Helena Bertinelli slowly get up and follow Lance out of the court room. She cast him a suspicious look. Obviously she would follow this trial very closely. He gave her his best confused face, but had to refocus his attention before he could see her reaction as his family joined him and Laurel. Walter informed him that he would have the money ready in a few hours and that he'd be home by dinner time. Oliver nodded numbly.

When they got home, the police was already waiting for them. Oliver could see Detective Lance as the car approached the front porch. To his surprise, he saw his mother bristle in the front seat and wondered what had occurred between the two. She was out of the car before it had even come to a complete stop. Diggle was so surprised that he floored the breaks, nearly giving him and Thea whiplash. But Oliver was more interested in the heated argument between his mother and the detective. Lance's partner kept his distance as if he had learned the hard way not to get in the middle of these fights, but that would imply that his mother and the detective knew each other better than expected and Oliver couldn't fathom why that would be the case. He could only make out every third word, so all he got was that Lance wasn't supposed to be here, which, really, was obvious by the fact that they were arguing at all.

"Well, I'm hardly here for my enjoyment... Queen!", the detective suddenly barked at him with a harsh motion to follow him inside.

Looking curiously between his mother and the officer, he shuffled into the house. As they walked through the entrance hall and past the ball room that had been so recently filled, Oliver's eyes lit up with an idea. He cast a surreptitious glance at Diggle walking slightly behind him. The body guard gave him an odd look, but remained quiet. Oliver figured he'd have some convincing to do, both on him and on his family. He refocused his attention on the police when they arrived in the lounge and the technician directed him to the couch. He allowed himself to plop onto it with a silly grin to prove he was not nervous. The look on Detective Lance's face made it worth the admonishing glance from his mother. Tommy had joined them from the courthouse; he looked somewhere between worried and impressed. Oliver watched curiously as the technician placed the contraption around his ankle. The band snapped shut with an audible click, followed by a mechanical beep to indicate that the device was working.

"From now on, we'll always know where you are, Queen – every move you make," Lance announced with satisfaction, though the undercurrent of anger was ever present.

"The device is waterproof, Mr Queen, so you can shower. Though I'd avoid pool parties if possible," the technician informed him in a calm voice.

"Speaking of parties, what's the range of this thing? 'Cause I thought I'd get some of my friends together on the patio..."

"The patio is fine, but put one foot on the green and a SWAT team will come to take you down," the man replied with a patience Oliver had to credit him for. His mother thanked the man and invited the police to leave none too subtly. As soon as they were out of the room all eyes turned to him.

"I thought we could do it with a jail theme," he proposed. Tommy snorted in amusement and incredulity. "You know, something like: Oliver Queen, come see him before he's carted off to jail."

"A party? With what's going on?", Moira questioned incredulously. "Don't you think that's a bit irresponsible?"

"Mom," he answered calmly, standing up. "That's exactly the point. I want people to see that I'm not worried."

"Maybe you should be, buddy. They're accusing you of numerous counts of murder," Tommy chimed in.

"Which I didn't commit."

"Yeah, 'cause the innocent never go to jail," Thea muttered.

"Thea!"

"No, don't Thea me. You could go to jail and you don't even take this seriously." She rushed out of the room. Oliver moved to follow her, then stopped for a second to ask Tommy to get it all organized. Tommy shook his head smiling, but looked at Moira and Walter for permission. The two were awfully reluctant, but ultimately agreed, while Oliver hastened after his sister. He tried her room first, but she wasn't there. He had distinctly heard her run up the stairs, so he began searching some of the guest room where Thea might feel like she could avoid everyone. Finally, he noticed that the door to his own room was ajar. Looking in he found his little sister sitting on the chaise at the end of his bed. Her head was bowed, her eyes locked on something she was twisting in her hand. With an inward curse he noticed that it was the arrow head he had brought back from the island. When she noticed him halfway through the door, she got up in a flurry of motion and cornered him.

"You gave me this, Oliver!", she seethed. "You gave me an arrowhead the day you came home."

He approached her carefully to clasp her hand with the arrowhead in both of his. She tore her hand away at first, but when he tried again she allowed the touch. Her muscles were tense, though, ready for a fight. She didn't trust him and that tore into him with more force than he had expected. Oliver took a deep breath as her suspicious gaze cut into him even deeper. He led her slowly back to the chaise to sit down with her. Taking the arrowhead from her, he twirled it around in his hand, reminiscing for a moment in all the memories it enclosed. The memories were painful, but he had not given it to Thea to rid himself of them. He had given it to her in hopes of overcoming them. Those memories had been a big part in making him the man he was today. He'd hoped that giving the Hozen to Thea would allow him to move forward to become a new man again, the man Starling City needed. He returned it to his sister's hand once he felt ready to face her and raised his eyes to hers.

"It's a Hozen. It symbolizes reconnecting. It was given to me by one of the sailors on the fishing boat that found me. With how long I had been lost, he thought it could reconnect me with the world, my family, my friends... I remember how you followed me everywhere when we were younger, so I gave it to you hoping it would reconnect us..."

Thea was quiet as she looked between him and the arrowhead.

"I thought it would be better than getting you something from the gift shop at the Beijing airport with the money mom and Walter wired. Now I wish I had..."

"Or at least that you had explained better," Thea murmured. "Why didn't you just say so right away?"

"Because it's a bit like wishing on a shooting star, isn't it? Spiritual Buddhist paraphernalia somehow making it so five years of our lives hadn't happened – I didn't want to jinx it, but instead I made it worse..."

Thea moved to embrace him. He felt the lies burning in his throat as he returned her hug tightly.

"I'm sorry, Ollie. I know you're not that vigilante, but... I'm scared. You could go to jail and I'll be alone again."

He pulled Thea to him tighter.

"You'll never be alone again. It'll be alright," he promised, even though knowing one way or another, his lifestyle would prevent him from keeping that promise. When Diggle knocked on his door, Thea wiped a few stray tears from her face and told them she wanted to lie down. He glares at his bodyguard for a moment, but cannot really blame him for Thea still needing some space. He didn't doubt she could see through the untenable promise as he watched her practically run out of the room. She wanted to be reassured, but she knew better. Diggle waited until Thea is out of earshot, then moves into the room and closes the door. He comes to a stop a few feet from where Oliver was sitting, hands in his pockets and looking somewhat mystified.

"Well, that's that then. The end of the Hood. Came a bit sooner than expected."

"Not at all. Really, Diggle, you don't think I considered the coincidence of my return and my beginning activities as vigilante. I knew the police would eventually knock on my door."

"Well, I'll give you an A for foresight, but that doesn't change the fact that you're stuck at home on a tracker bracelet and crime is out there."

"I'll admit the bracelet was a bit of a surprise, but it's better than being in custody awaiting trial. And crime may be out there, but so will the Hood be."

"How, you're here!", Diggle protested, but Oliver could see that it dawned on him.

"It doesn't have to be me under the hood," he told his partner for good measure.

Diggle's jaw set.

"Is that why you recruited me. To cover an eventuality."

"One of the reasons, yes," Oliver admitted freely. No point denying it. "But not the only reason – or even the most important one. Leo Müller is in town; he's a German arms dealer. There'll be a deal going down in the next few days, no doubt. We just need to find out when and where. You'll find all the surveillance gear you need at the base to shadow him. Find out how he plans to make the deal. If the Hood were to make an appearance, the suspicion should fall away from me."

Diggle gave him a measured look.

"There's two things you didn't consider when making this plan of yours," he pointed out. "Were you present when your sister stormed out of here crying a minute ago? You're putting your family through hell, Oliver. And for what? So you can nail a German arms dealer?"

"And protect the city from a gang war with military-grade guns and grenade launchers. You're the one who said I should take an interest in criminal activity perpetuated by people not on the list, now you're faulting me for it. I didn't choose today as the day Müller arrived in town, but since the Royal Flush Gang we've expended the parameters of the mission; this is the mission."

Diggle shook his head at him, but stopped arguing. There would be no talking him out of this and Diggle had to admit that Oliver going to prison, even deservedly so, would hurt his family even more. So the best he could do to protect them and Oliver alike was to go through with this hair-brained plan and hope...

"What's the other thing?", Oliver asked when Diggle had turned back to the door without speaking again.

The bodyguard turned around again.

"That I'm not exactly white, in case you hadn't noticed (DW quote)," Diggle replied tiredly. "Let's just hope Black Canary isn't there tonight."

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

"Are you insane?"

After the hearing, Laurel had made her way directly home. She ignored the various calls she had received from Ted until he got the message and gave her the space she needed. Nonetheless she knew there was a confrontation she wouldn't be able to avoid that day, so when she got home, she let her keys plop into the small bowl on the cupboard next to her door and walked into the living room. She stepped out of her shoes, threw her purse onto her couch and laid her jacket over the armrest. Then she made her way over to the kitchen and prepared two cups of hot cocoa. She held one cup up to her face and let the rich chocolate aroma wash over her. A small sip and she could feel the feel herself relax a little. Laurel loved coffee, but it would only get her more riled up. It was enough if one of them ended up shouting, so she was not surprised when the first words out of her father's mouth – the door to her apartment not yet closed – questioned her sanity.

"Nope. Cocoa?"

"Laurel, what were you thinking? This man killed more than half a dozen people, for Christ's sake!"

"We don't know that. As I told Judge Moss, the evidence is all circumstantial."

Quentin gave her a look.

"Look, dad, Ted and I discussed this-"

"Oh, wow, you discussed it. Well, then, it's all good, isn't it?!", the detective scoffed sarcastically. "And, what? I don't merit input in my daughter's choices anymore? Didn't feel like you needed police consultation, I guess, since that's all that I'm apparently good for – case intel."

"That's not fair, dad, and not true!"

"Could have fooled me."

Laurel sighed. She took one last gulp of her hot chocolate and went to drain the cup. On her way back from the kitchen she retrieved the other cup of cocoa. This time she didn't bother offering it to her father as she could see in the way he looked at the cup that he'd probably send it flying all over the room. Which was just as well, really, because she had a feeling she would be needing that extra boost of chocolate very soon. They hadn't even really scratched the surface of their impending fight so far.

"If it is him, the circumstantial evidence means that any half-decent lawyer will get him out of it. He isn't going away for this unless you've got a smoking gun you haven't been sharing, which would be illegal by the way, so in that scenario he'd walk on a technicality instead," she began explaining as calmly as she could, trying very hard not to sound like she was talking to a child as that would only rile her father up further. "Acting as his attorney gives me access to Oliver in a way the police can't get to get to the bottom of this. Who knows, he might even tell me himself. People are known to confess to their lawyers."

"And I'm supposed to believe you'd violate ethics to tell the world..."

"...No, but we could go from there to gather additional proof, maybe force him to _retire_."

"Or find that smoking gun?", Quentin asked doubtfully. It was a far-flung plan that seemed to build up to a long game they might not have the time for, especially if the Hood kept killing his opponents. "And how many die until then-"

"And how will this rash arrest prevent that?", Laurel challenged. "I told you, he doesn't need me. He will walk either way. I'm simply using the situation to our advantage. And what if it isn't him?"

"And what if he discovers you instead, hm?!", the detective questioned, running a worried hand through his hair.

"I won't let that happen. I'll meet with him as his lawyer, not in mask an-" she interrupted herself as a plan formed in her mind. "Maybe that's not such a bad idea."

"What is?"

"Confronting him as Black Canary. It would be almost expected. Corner him and he'll-"

"Strike," her father warned. "If it is him, he's killed to protect his identity before when he and Merlyn were kidnapped."

"Thankfully, you and mom made sure I could handle myself. He won't have his bow and he won't find me an easy target."

Quentin crossed the room in a few short steps. He grasped her by her shoulders firmly and gave her a good shake. He looked frantically over her entire face as if to determine how serious she was. Once she locked eyes with him and her iron will shone through, he began to silently shake his head. Her father didn't seem fully aware of the motion, judging by the frightened shock in his eyes. He backed away again.

"No, no, you can't be serious. Just look at what happened to Sara! Whether he's the hooded vigilante or not, Oliver Queen. Is. Poison. He killed Sara!"

"Dad..."

"No, Laurel, you... he killed Sara, I can't... lose..."

Laurel approached him carefully.

"No, dad, he didn't. The storm killed Sara."

"She wouldn't have been on that boat if not for Queen."

"That's not his fault. Yes, he was an asshole and a cheater at the time, but she made her choice, dad. She chose to forgive him. She went on the yacht with him because they wanted to try again to make it work."

"And it killed her!", Quentin roared in anger.

"Yes, it did, but that was neither Oliver's nor Sara's fault and you shouldn't let it cloud your judgment."

"My judgment?!", he barked. "You're the one who is making gooey eyes at the Hood."

"I'm not mak- Maybe both our judgments are clouded," she finally admitted. "But for different reasons. I'm trying to help, misguided as it may be. You're trying to start a witch hunt."

Quentin turned on his heel and left.

"You're not the only one who misses her, dad."

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

Moira was waiting when her appointment arrived. They met down by the water where they were just two more people watching the ocean, hoping it would calm them. She had formed the habit to come down here when she was stressed after Walter dragged her out of her self-imposed solitary confinement. She had formed a habit of coming here when her mind was in turmoil to look out at the seemingly endless, calm depths of the sea. It had taken her husband and her son from her, but in those first few months she had hoped it would give them back to her. She had imagined watching a ship, only a dot on the horizon and following its approach into the harbor, until she could see her boys at the bow looking again upon their home. Their eyes finding her and her heart beating rapidly at the though of their reunion.

Even after she and Walter had become involved and even after they got married, she couldn't break the habit. When her son had returned to her, it was nothing like she'd imagined. He was distant and cold and still irresponsible as hell and she didn't even see him until hours after he arrived, but he was alive. And so she kept coming here. Though she loved Walter dearly and would not part from him for the world, a part of her couldn't help but imagine that it was her steadfastness that had returned Oliver and may yet return his father. It was nonsense, of course. Robert was dead; Oliver had confirmed as much. And they'd had their problems, but she'd give anything to give Oliver and Thea back their father. So she had kept coming despite everything.

That had worked wonderfully when her contact had entered her life. An already formed habit wouldn't arouse suspicion. When he approached her, she didn't even acknowledge him. He looked rattled this time, but then so did she. Circumstances being what they were, they were all a bit on edge. Best keep this meeting short to avoid any outbursts that might attract attention. Over the years she had acquired a talent for subterfuge.

"The waves are calm today."

"Wish I could say the same," she muttered back. She saw his eyes widen and immediately added. "But that's why I'm here. The ocean always calms me."

"Moira," the man bit out a warning.

"My son was arrested. I think I have a right to be upset."

The man sighed.

"Any news?", he changed the topic quickly.

"There's been radio silence ever since the news of the arrest came down, but I have very little doubt that the Undertaking is already planning my son's murder. They'll send someone after him just as a precaution."

"He'll be protected."

"I should expect so, or you can go... drown yourself," she replied with a glance at the ocean, then turned on her heel and left.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(SCPD)_

"Given the defendant's time spent in complete isolation from human society and the concomitant social and psychological issues we are willing to support an insanity plea. Instead of going to jail, your client would be admitted to psychiatric facility for an indeterminate amount of time," the prosecutor explained patiently, while Detective Lance shifted uncomfortably in his chair to her right. Oliver was sitting opposite her with Laurel at his right side and was shaking his head almost imperceptibly.

"No," he said immediately.

"Mr Queen, you had a ski mask in your possession during an ongoing bank robbery-"

"In which I was taken hostage and as I explained to the detective during my interrogation, I saw something suspicious tucked next to a flower pot and wanted to show it to security without raising a panic or alerting the assailants."

"And that flower pot just so happens to be in one of the few dead angles not covered by the camera system?!", Lance snorted.

"No, I'm pretty sure the Royal Flush Gang found that very convenient."

"And what about this, hmm?", he asked, slapping several documents on the table before Oliver. "These shipping statements say you purchased large quantities of rubber masks and sporting arrows and had them shipped to your club shortly after you returned and started murdering Starling's criminal classes."

"Allegedly," Laurel interjected. "And my client explained that he had purchased those for the opening party of his club once it was set up, to give out to the guests."

"The guy saved my life... and the news seem to be obsessed with him. I figured he'd make a good theme," Oliver added nonchalantly. He made his own arrows, of course, but the carbon shafts of the sporting equipment could come in handy once he modified them a bit. As for the mask – he needed only one and maybe a spare, after all.

"Ms Lance, your father bypassed my office in proceeding with arrest; that's the only reason the offer is on the table. I advise your client to take it. A mental facility is better than prison, where he'd be amidst all the criminals whose friends he shot."

"No," Oliver reiterated.

"Let's not... be so hasty," Laurel advised him, her hand coming to rest on his arm. "It's actually a pretty good deal."

"One that expects me to write my name under an admission of guilt for something I didn't do," Oliver elaborated. "And then, to add insult to injury, I'm supposed to sign away my sanity too. The years on the island were the hardest of my life, but I'm not crazy."

"Finally something we agree on," Lance chimed in. "You're just a murderer like any other."

Oliver and Laurel both gave him a look.

"I'm innocent."

The detective scoffed.

"And I'm willing to let you put that statement to the test."

Quentin leaned forward, suddenly intrigued. "How?"

"I'll take a lie detector test."

"Those are not admissible in court," Laurel informed him hastily.

"I don't have to convince a jury. Just him," he replied with a nod toward her father. "I'll let you grill me with a lie detector, Detective Lance."

"Could I have a moment with my client," Laurel requested.

The prosecutor nodded and got up, mumbling about how that might be a good idea.

"I'll have the test set up," Lance told them on his way out.

Laurel turned to Oliver, unsure what to say now that they were alone. They exchanged a look and she tried to determine if he was telling the truth or not by claiming to be innocent. It was hard to imagine him surviving on a desolate island for five years without honing some survival skills, but those didn't usually include close combat techniques or archery. It wasn't like Lian Yu had a sporting goods store where he might have gotten a bow anyway. Still, there was an edge about Oliver that seemed to bug everyone around him. He was distant to his family and friends, while trying to project the image of a charming rogue. She had wanted to write that off as trauma, but was it possible that it was a strategic move?

"Do you believe me that I'm not the vigilante?", Oliver asked out of the blue, having seen the frown on her face.

"It doesn't matter what I think-"

"It matters to me," he said honestly. Somehow in the short time he had known her, her opinion had come to mean a great deal to him. When he'd seen her in the crowd at the inauguration of the research lab named after his father, he almost hadn't gone through with his little charade, even though it had been inspired by their conversation.

"I don't know, Oliver," she answered sincerely. "I mean, I don't want to think so and the evidence is circumstantial, but..."

"It makes you think," he finished for her. "I've been gone for five years; how did that change me..."

"Yes," she admitted quietly. Then she looked directly at him. "Tell me. Tell me it isn't you and I'll believe you."

That was probably a bit of a lie, even though she did want to believe him. He placed his hand over hers on his arm. She hadn't even noticed it was still there until exactly that moment. His touch was warm and soft as if he was worried about scaring her away. When she raised her eyes from their hands, his were waiting, blue and sharp. His face was calm, almost passive and Laurel wasn't sure whether that was honesty or calculation. Either way, she hung on for every word.

"I'm not a murderer," he spoke softly. Short and simple and straight to the point. He held her gaze a moment longer to make sure the message sunk in, then retreated back his chair and took his limbs with him. Laurel grasped for something to say for a moment, but finally straightened herself and addressed the impending polygraph.

"My father won't let this go even if you do pass the polygraph, you know that, right?"

Without waiting for a reply, she went and called her father back in. With him was a technician carrying a large machine. They instructed Oliver to take his jacket and sweater off, so they could hook him up to the machine. Laurel sat quietly by his side, opposite her glaring father as the technician set everything up. Then they started off with a few standard questions to determine the baseline. His name, hair color, address. Fun stuff; that was about the only even remotely light topic for this session, though, as her father dived straight into the thick of it from there. After holding up pictures of the Hood and his victims, asking if Oliver knew them and had killed them and receiving only negative answers, Quentin held up another picture.

This one was of Laurel.

"Dad?", she asked surprised, but he ignored her.

"You asked my daughter, Laurel, to represent you. In fact, you insisted on her or else you didn't want any legal representation."

"Is that a question?", Oliver asked, curious as to where this was going.

"Why?"

"...I thought she might be able to make you see sense, seeing as you insist on this nonsense about me being the hooded vigilante."

"The machine works best with short yes and no answers," the technician told them.

"So you're using her?"

"Dad!"

"...Yes," Oliver admitted quietly. "I suppose you could call it that."

The detective cast his daughter a look. She rolled her eyes.

"I'm sorry," Oliver told her sincerely.

"Don't worry about it."

Her father held up another picture of Laurel, but this one was of poor quality and Laurel wasn't recognizable as she wore her leather outfit.

"Who's this?"

"The female vigilante that everyone's talking about. She saved me from the Restons after they took me hostage during a bank heist."

"Again, detective..." the technician reminded him.

"Yeah, yeah, alright... Do you know who she is?"

Laurel's heart nearly stopped at the question. She looked at her father, but he was focused on Oliver. Was he trying to trip Oliver up into admitting something? The vigilante knew she called herself Black Canary after all. Or else was he tying to gauge how much he knew about her to see if she was in any danger of discovery?

"No," Oliver responded surprised.

"You have no idea?"

"No."

"Do you know anything about her at all?"

"Not really. I mean, I know she's a good fighter to take on the entire family and she's a bit shorter than me, but that's about it."

This time the technician just looked at Quentin.

"Were you stranded on an island called Lian Yu for five years?"

"How's that relevant?", Laurel interjected.

"I don't have to show relevance," Quentin countered.

"Perhaps not, but if you don't have any more questions regarding the vigilante, we're done here. You are not subjecting my client-"

"This pertains to the vigilante because whatever happened to your client on that island turned him into a cold-blooded killer."

"It's alright," Oliver interrupted when Laurel got up. He grabbed her hand to gently pull her back down. He didn't let go afterward, because he felt like it grounded him when memories of his torture surfaced at Lance's line of questioning. "I want to answer... Yes, I was."

"The physician who examined you stated that twenty per cent of your body is covered in scar tissue. Did that happen to you there?"

Laurel felt his fingers grip on tighter and closed both her hands around them.

"Yes."

"When you came back, you told everyone that you were alone on the island. Are you claiming that your scars were... self-inflicted?"

Laurel glared at her father for the almost jovial tone he adopted for the last work. Oliver's hand was growing colder like all the blood was draining from it.

"No." He breathed deeply. "I wasn't alone."

The detective didn't speak, so Oliver continued.

"I didn't want to talk about what happened to me because the people who were there tortured me."

He could feel Laurel's grip tighten around his hand. In his periphery he saw her eyes widening with shock.

"Have you killed anyone?"

"...Yes. There was a man who... He used a knife to carve... on me." Remembering it would raise his pulse and help him mask the lies and half-truths, but... The words were heavy in his throat. They didn't want to come out. He didn't want to talk about it, his first kill, because despite also making him stronger, it still hurt. It never stopped hurting. When he concentrated or when he allowed the memory to take over his conscious mind, he could still feel the cool sharpness of the blade.

"I don't know how – he must have let his guard down for a moment – I struggled free. He fell backward and his head hit... something. I didn't check if... but he didn't move when I ran. I think...I think I killed him."

There was a moment of silence as everyone digested the information. The tale was a half truth. There were plenty of people he had killed in righteous self-defense on the island, more he had killed in the war-like situation that followed, but there was one more person... one person whose death weighed on his conscious more than any other. One person whose death was truly horrifying and unnecessary and whose life may have been saved if only she never knew him. Never forgave him; it had been her good heart and his manipulations that had killed her in the end. That was a death he would carry with him for the rest of his life.

"And Sara." He looked up, biting his lips, then clarified. "My girlfriend Sara Drake. She only came on the trip with me, because I'd asked her along to make up for having cheated on her. She wouldn't have even been there if not for me. I killed her, too."

With a steadying breath, he ripped all the electrodes from him and rushed out the room. He rushed out without looking back and grateful that nobody stopped him, despite being still a suspect in a serial killer case. He was barely out the door when he almost collided with a slim, elegantly clad form. He looked up and was looking into the face of Helena Bertinelli. He hadn't seen her as Oliver Queen since she turned up at CNRI, unless one counted her appearance in court that morning. She had looked at him suspiciously then and her stony face revealed that her suspicions hadn't abated in the slightest since, but he was in turmoil now at remembering... all that. He couldn't bother with Helena now, so he made to brush past her with a mumbled apology, except she grabbed his arm and held him back.

"First you turn up at CNRI and now you rope Ms Lance into defending you against her own father's investigation," she murmured venomously. "You make quite the battle couple, don't you?"

He managed to force a vaguely curious look to reflect on his tempestuous face as he took in her deliberate word choice. Internally, his mind was racing with the implications of the statement. Helena thought the Hood knew Canary's secret identity and because she thought he was the Hood, she also thought Laurel was Black Canary. The thought took a moment to sink in. He suppressed a chuckle; Laurel was well-versed in self defense techniques, but he'd seen her fight a few times: she was not an offensive fighter like Black Canary. She took down guys like Max Fuller and a few stupid street robbers who thought a woman alone made an easy target with relative ease, but if their misadventure in Iron Heights was any indication, her limited defensive repertoire left her struggling against real mobsters and trained assassins.

"Well, I hope she'll knock some sense into her father to end this persecution. I'm not a murderer," Oliver responded frustrated. "I'm sorry, Helena, that was- I'm wound a bit tight as you might imagine. Sorry... again..."

He hurried past her, hoping he gave a convincing performance.

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Laurel was looking pointedly at her father while he was looking determinedly somewhere else.

"I'd have to take a closer look at the data, but eyeballing it... He's telling the truth," the technician told them on his way out the door.

"Hmm."

"Can I assume that you'll be recommending Miss Spencer to drop all charges against my client?", Laurel asked as she rose out of her seat. She had little hope in regard, but it couldn't hurt to try.

"No," he answered as expected. "I know a guilty man when I see one. He is guilty. I won't let this drop until I've got him."

"I never said you should, but many ways lead to Rome."

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Queen Consolidated)_

Walter was looking out the window toward the docks when his head of security entered his office as if he expected some sort of clue as to what was going on in his wife's head by staring toward the object of his consternation. He motioned for the other man to sit down before joining him at the desk. Quietly inquiring how long Josiah Hudson had worked for Queen Consolidated, Walter considered one more time the wisdom of divulging the incredible information he had acquired. Only a few days ago at the hospital he had promised himself to wait for Moira to tell him herself, but every hour that pass where she did not weighed like a stone upon his chest. Robert had been his friend and the instrument of his demise lay almost innocently in a warehouse by the docks when it should be at the bottom of the ocean. There was only one reason to salvage the yacht in secret and it gnawed at Walter every moment.

It was more than he could bear alone.

He thought about telling Felicity of his discovery. She had been instrumental in finding the Queen's Gambit after all, but for all her brilliance, kindness and endearing quirkiness, he doubted she had the right character for this. Whatever they did, it would have to be born of subterfuge and, her excuse to repair his computer aside, she didn't seem the kind for deception. He regarded the man across from him; former military turned chief of security. Not an uncommon career path perhaps, but one that almost guaranteed the set of skills necessary to get to the bottom of the issue. He glanced outside his office, but other than his secretary there was no one. Walter then turned back to Josiah Hudson with a sigh. There was nothing for it; he had to confide in someone.

"What I'm about to tell you requires maximum discretion."

"I know how to keep a secret, sir," Josiah replied with a serious, if tired face and Walter wondered if the man thought he was going to ask him to cover his affair.

"I recently discovered the salvaged Queen's Gambit in a warehouse by the docks," he told him calmly. He had to give Josiah credit; aside from a slight widening of the eyes, the chief of security remained impassive. He scribbled something onto a piece of paper and passed it to Josiah quickly. "This is the address of the warehouse and the pass code. I want you to move the remains of the yacht to a secure location, quietly."

Josiah looked from the note to him and back again.

"May I ask how you came to find the Gambit in Starling when it's supposed to be lost at sea."

"That's very much what I'd like to find out. Step one is securing the wreckage. Can you do it?"

"...Consider it done, sir."

Walter nodded.

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 _(Queen Residence)_

"Man, do you really think this party is a good idea?", Tommy asked as they moved from the entrance hall toward the patio. He had come by again after Laurel had called him to tell him his friend had taken a polygraph test to prove his innocence. He was glad Oliver seemed to have passed it – not that he ever believed his friend capable of jumping from roof to roof at night in a corny outfit – but this party and especially its prison theme still seemed in bad taste. Though Tommy had to admit that it was very much Oliver's style to pull something like this. Old Oliver. Pre-island Oliver. And for that at least Tommy cautiously thanked his lucky stars, because maybe his friend was finally breaking through the surface of whatever mojo the island worked on him. Tommy made his way through the glass door onto the patio, before realizing that Oliver wasn't following him. He turned to see his friend look at some of the workers, his head and upper body stretched out of the door, while his legs with the anklet stayed safely inside.

"Could you ask to watch out with the electrical cables. I don't want the guests tripping over them... I'd do it myself, but... well, I'd rather not chance it before tonight."

Tommy looked a little non-plussed.

"Hey, it'll be okay. Detective Lance will see reason and if not, you heard Laurel in court. The case is circumstantial at best. They haven't really got anything."

"While I hate to say this about Laurel, lawyers can be wrong. Juries are not always the most reliable _impartial_ witnesses," Tommy countered. He trusted Laurel with his friend's life, of course he did, but what if things didn't go their way. While he enjoyed having a bit of the old Oliver back, his friend needed to take this situation a bit more seriously. There was also that stupid, lingering doubt that he couldn't quite quench about that time they were kidnapped. He had been drifting in and out of consciousness for a bit there, but he was sure to have heard Oliver talk to their kidnappers – and not in a frightened-for-his-life way. The tone his friend had used sounded dark and threatening to Tommy admittedly drug-induced semi-consciousness. Tommy shook his head free of the thoughts and passed on the instruction while he waited for Oliver's reply.

"It won't come to that," his friend assured him with more confidence than any man in his position should have.

"What if it does?"

"It won't."

"You can't know that!"

"But I believe it," Oliver countered and he seemed vulnerable in his sudden desperation. "Because I have to. Because this-" He pointed at the anklet. "- is scary enough without thinking of the day-to-day at Iron Heights."

Oliver swallowed thickly and as Tommy looked around at the decorations and the electric cables, the stereos and the workers it suddenly dawned on him. Everything Oliver was doing now, reverting to his old lifestyle of carefree partying, was a defense mechanism. A distraction and self-deception in order to avoid confronting the situation because he was scared out of his mind. Tommy's heart sped up with a fight or flight instinct, unsure whether to confront Oliver and try to shake him out of it or join him in his party-planning and dropping this line of questioning until the first day in court. Tommy was torn between being supportive and being honest. He wanted to be a good friend, but didn't know what that entailed under the circumstances. Maybe he should talk to Laurel as well, get her input on the legal case directly. For all her confidence at the hearing, maybe it was all posturing on her part. If she had downplayed the evidence to get bail, Oliver should know.

He walked over to his friend and gave Oliver a brief hug.

"You're right. We have to believe it'll be okay," Tommy assured him as well. _At least for the time being_ , he thought. When he released his friend, he faced Oliver with a broad, fake smile. "Hey, I know you can't leave the house, but that doesn't mean we can't do something fun. Come on, let's get comfy before your giant flat screen and watch all the superbowls you've missed."

"That's the Tommy Merlyn I know. A famous idea."

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 _(Merlyn Global)_

Moira took a deep breath to prepare herself for this conversation without every stopping in her movement as she opened the door and entered the office. Malcolm barely looked up from what he was signing in order to greet her, but that was just as well. When she had received his summons on her phone while at the docks with her contact, she had nearly had a heart attack. The entire way over she wondered if he knew about her clandestine meetings. She mentally berated herself as she sat down on the opposite side of the desk, because if he knew, she wouldn't be talking to him, but pointlessly begging for her life and the lives of her loved ones from his _associate_.

"If w could keep this short. I'm somewhat in the midst of a family crisis," she announced quickly, though she had little doubt that Malcolm was as well informed as she about the proceedings of the case.

"Yes, of course. It's all over the local news – possibly even national," he joked, making Moira look at her lap uncomfortably.

"Well, I- I know what you're thinking."

"Do you?", he questioned sarcastically.

"My son is not the man targeting the list," Moira told him off firmly. "The charges are preposterous."

"Not according to DA Spencer-"

"Who has lost the hearing regarding bail to Miss Lance and has undoubtedly informed you of the polygraph test. Which my son passed."

Malcolm looked at her perplexed. It wasn't often that someone dared to interrupt him, even her. The few occasions that she had done so in the past had always been out of utter conviction that what she had to say was true and relevant. Moira was not a woman to exclude from a conversation or push to the margins; she had no issue shouldering her way in. It was what she had to do when he'd... persuaded her to take her husband's place in the Undertaking. He had expected her to be timid, frightened by her coldly calculating business associates, but instead she had shone with an aura of confidence and determination that had quickly gained her his trust and the second most important position in their cohort.

"There are ways to trick a polygraph," Malcolm informed her quietly. "Besides, they are not very reliable as is. That's why they are not admissible as evidence in court. So your son has proven nothing. Even the detective who filed charges against him doesn't believe the polygraph."

"That detective has a vendetta against my family."

"Why? Is there something untoward about your family?"

 _Our association with you_ , Moira thought, but wisely kept her mouth shut.

"You don't know?", she asked instead, leaning back in her chair with a practiced smile that seemed both haughty and sly. Then she caught herself as she thought about the implication of what she was taunting Malcolm for. "Oliver had invited a guest aboard the Gambit. A young woman that was very dear to Detective Lance. When the Gambit sank, she... was lost."

She got up without waiting for a response.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Queen Residence)_

A giant bowl of popcorn between them, Oliver and Tommy had debated letting Thea join their gentlemen's afternoon when she found them on the couch. She had ultimately taken that decision from them when she'd simply taken up the bowl and let herself plop down onto the seat in its place. The motion had sent popcorn flying across the couch and onto the floor and Oliver had warned her that Raisa wouldn't be happy with them, but ultimately they'd left it the way it was in favor of continuing to watch first the Giants and the Patriots and then the Steelers and the Cardinals. Even skipping all the needless advertisements, the two childhood friends had only reached the 2009 superbowl by the time they had to get ready for the party.

"The Steelers win," Tommy announced when they switched off the TV.

"You know, this isn't really that much fun if you spoiler it, Tommy," Oliver chastised, but his grin took the bite out of the words.

While Thea went upstairs, Tommy and Oliver tried to fix the mess they'd made a little bit, although all that amounted to were a pile of inedible popcorn on the coffee table beside the bowl and some crushed popcorn sticking to the carpet.

"Oh, well. I doubt anyone will notice with what will be going on," Tommy finally said.

"Raisa will kill me," Oliver grumbled in return.

"Na, who stays mad at a castaway."

"If I remember correctly that's what you said to Mr Queen right before leading him into a club where he ditched me and Miss Lance ended up having to save both your asses, Mr Merlyn," Diggle voice drifted over from the door.

Tommy and Oliver exchanged a guilty grin.

"Sir, the information you requested from the construction firm," Diggle told him, holding up a USB stick. Oliver nodded and excused himself to go see what Diggle had dug up about Leo Müller. Ideally, Diggle had managed to use the surveillance technology he had instructed his bodyguard to use in order to find out where the buy was happening. They went upstairs in silence, though he could feel the tension surrounding Diggle. Clearly his partner still wasn't quite sure about what to think about Oliver's plan to have him step into his shoes. Once they reached his room, Oliver quietly closed and locked the door to avoid any unintended interruptions.

"I have Leo Müller's current location from the transponders. The deal is going down tonight," Diggle informed him.

"Then the Hood will stop him."

"You mean me."

"Yes." Oliver paused for a moment to look Diggle straight in the eye. "I'm sorry if it seems like using you was the only thing I had in mind when I approached you. While the thought did occur to me that I needed a partner in order to pull this charade of, that's not all there is to it."

He swallowed tensely, waiting for Diggle's reply.

"There's another thing we haven't considered," Diggle spoke up and Oliver took it as a small victory that he used the plural pronoun. When the words sank in, he frowned. He remembered the concerns his partner had raised earlier that day, but what else did he think they'd missed.

"I don't know the first thing about archery."

"...The thought occurred and it's something we will remedy in case something like this happens again. I thought we would have more time."

"Oh, so you were planning on letting me in on your little plan. Comforting."

"..."

"I know, I know. Let's move on. How do you figure I can pass for you if I can't shoot an arrow."

"Anyone fit enough can shoot an arrow, though perhaps not well. The idea is that you shoot as little as possible. Leave one or two arrows as evidence; Müller and everyone else will think they were warning shots."

"What about Black Canary?"

"That's a controllable factor-"

"Don't let her hear you say that."

Oliver glared.

"Check for her before going in position. Then call her to come there. She shouldn't get to see more than the tail end of your operation. If she's there already, call her to a place a few blocks away to distract her attention, but I doubt it will be necessary."

"Why not?", Diggle frowned.

"Ever since I've been arrested, all eyes have been on me. She will be no different, meaning she is more likely to come here and confront me in an attempt to catch me in a lie or make me reveal myself."

"You sound very sure," Diggle said doubtfully.

"It's what I would do."

His partner didn't seem fully convinced by that, but he stopped protesting and agreed to go to Müller's clandestine meeting to disrupt it if not to take down all the participants. While Diggle made his way to the hideout, Oliver quickly changed his clothes and went down to greet the arriving guests. Tommy was already on it, charming the first arrivals with drinks and smiles and giving the DJ the go ahead. Oliver watched him play the social butterfly for a few moments, before he spotted Helena among the guest. Unlike the rest, who were talking animately or dancing to the music, she merely observed her surroundings. Their eyes locked and he could almost feel the suspicion rolling off of her in waves, so he smiled openly as if he was surprised to see her. As with Black Canary, he expected a visit from Helena. In her case, coming in civilian garb even made sense to see if she could trip him up into revealing that he knew of her other persona.

His eyes drifted over to the line of police officers a good dozen meters away from the party zone. He spotted Detective Lance and the two exchanged a look. The detective's eyes continued to burn in anger and even hatred and it struck Oliver that he still didn't know why. He had told Laurel to take her time and he stood by that decision, but with all the chaos that had recently been his life, he suddenly realized how little he had thought about it. Perhaps it was time to ask Laurel about it again, gently. This burning hatred was much of the reason why the polygraph did nothing to dissuade Lance from following through on the charges he'd filed. It was about more than curiosity now; he needed to know to better combat the detective's suspicions. Turning back to his guests, Oliver moved through the throng of people to a table he had deliberately kept empty. Once he'd climbed on top, he motioned for the DJ to cut the music temporarily.

"Welcome everyone to what may very well be the last party I'll ever give!", he greeted them, earning cheers and laughs. "As you know, I might be off to Iron Heights soon, so thank you all for coming to see me off!" More cheers, just as planned. "Now, we're miles from any neighbors, so please don't worry about the noise."

A small laugh passed through the crowd as Oliver frowned comically.

"On second thought: Let's wake those losers up!"

Cheers and shouts and pats on the back accompanied him as he climbed down from the table and the music resumed. He made his way over to Tommy, feeling Detective Lance's heavy, disapproving gaze and Helena's surpicious one on him the entire time despite the ruckus going on around him. His friend welcomed him at the door with a clap on the shoulder and a drink, turning back to the bar to grab his own. They clinked their glasses together with practiced cheer.

"You know, I'm starting to think this was actually not such a bad idea after all."

Oliver looked at him perplexed.

"What changed your mind?"

"Lance's sour face," Tommy admitted. "That was worth it right there."

"Though the pretty girls don't hurt either, I bet." The new voice belonged to Laurel as she came in through the open door. She looked between the two men and seemed to suppress a sigh and a disappointed shake of the head.

"Oh, uh... well, I- I... How about a drink. What's your poison?", Tommy asked.

"Nothing. I'm here on business," she replied firmly. Then she turned to Oliver with a fake smile and sarcasm practically dripping from her tone. "Presuming that you can tear yourself away from this inappropriately themed party."

He smiled guiltily, before excusing them and leading her upstairs to his room. She couldn't help looking around it a bit curiously at how spartan it looked. She had expected more... something. She couldn't quite put her finger on it. It was functional, not personal or cozy. It seemed almost devoid of character as if it were a hotel room, albeit an extremely luxurious one. It didn't seem to suit Oliver's character, what she had seen of it anyway. He waited while she walked into the room and looked around, before following her inside.

"I take it you're not here for the party," he tried to break the ice.

They shared a small chuckle.

"Listen," she said, turning to face him, "I just wanted to come by and apologize for my father's behavior today."

"You don't have to apologize for him. It's not your fault. He has a right to feel... anyway that he wants. I get it."

"No, you don't and that's my fault," she admitted, looking down at the tips of her shoes in embarrassment. She had promised to tell him when she was ready, but every day she avoided to confront the issue with Sara it became easier to just ignore it. And therefore easier to never tell him. "I've been avoiding the issue."

"I know a little something about that," Oliver replied, looking to the door and thinking of his family who had no idea what was going on with him. "I don't blame you. Whatever time you need-"

"No," she interrupted at once. "That's how I've been avoiding it; telling myself I need more time. Justifying myself."

She seemed truly distressed. He raised a hand to her arm and ducked his head to look at her.

"Do you want to tell me now?", he asked gently, carefully. She looked like she would bolt at the slightest sudden move or loud noise.

"I- It's about Sara," she blurted and Oliver startled. Sure, she could have heard that name in the news reports, but why would she address Sara so intimately.

"What does Sara have to do with anything?"

"My mother found her while dad was still a beat cop. They weren't living in the best part of town at the time and she reported seeing a small, dirty and undernourished child a few times to the police, but nothing was done about it. So she opened her own investigation among the neighbors and roped dad into it. When several pointed at a reclusive woman living in one of the neighboring houses, she forced her way inside one day," Laurel began to explain and once she did it just kept tumbling out of her. "Sara was four years old and her mother was a drug addict. She neglected Sara, not feeding her, locking her in her room for days at a time. Mom called the cops again to incriminate herself for breaking and entering because it was the only way to get them to come over, where they found her holding Sara in the filth of her room-"

"My God," Oliver whispered, unable to help himself. Sara had told him she was adopted when she was little, but she had never mentioned her birth mother. He had always assumed that she didn't know her and that it was too painful to talk about.

"Mom was the one to carry her out of there and Sara clung to her from then on. She took care of her until child services could be informed, because she would let no one else near her. When the social worker came, Sara threw a fit – screaming and kicking and hiding underneath the desk dad was working on. Mom didn't want her to be put in the system, so he suggested she could stay with her and dad..."

"She stayed with you after that," Oliver guessed.

"Well, I wasn't born yet. They had been trying for a baby, but without success and-and-"

"-and here was a little girl who needed them," Oliver finished. "But- she's not... I mean her name wasn't Lance. She told me her name was Sara Drake. (1)"

"Yes, my mother's name. She... It's complicated. When our parents divorced, we moved with our mom to Central City. We visited Starling often, but I didn't live here again until I started law school. Sara came back sooner when she... Growing up, Sara eventually took mom's maiden name. She and dad adored each other... but mom was always... uh, the hero – the one who saved her in Sara's mind. They had some sort of falling out, though – I never figured out what about – but Sara dropped out of high school and moved back to Starling. She barely talked to mom and me after that. Dad was trying to help her to get her act together and he thought it was great when I came back to Starling for law school too. He thought it would help, but Sara... she was unreachable, aloof. When she started dating you, she wouldn't tell dad the name of her boyfriend. She didn't think he'd approve."

"But you knew?"

"Eventually- and not... not because she told me," Laurel agreed. "Thing is, dad found out through the news report."

Of the Gambit sinking.

The words were left unsaid and there were still things Laurel wasn't telling him, but Oliver could paint himself a pretty good picture of what was going on now. Her sister. Sara had been Laurel's sister. Detective Lance's daughter. And he had admitted it himself that asking Sara onto the boat had killed her. He had killed her. He had taken Sara from her parents and her sister and he could barely look at Laurel now.

"Look, I'm not trying to tell you this to make you feel bad or worse. I just really want you to understand him," she added quickly, taking a step closer to give her words emphasis. She wasn't trying to guilt-trip him, but they both needed to confront the proverbial elephant in the room.

"...Why don't you hate me?", he asked softly. He couldn't breathe. All that curiosity and frustration coalesced with a maelstrom of guilt that burnt inside in lungs. "You should."

"I did," Laurel confessed. "For such a long time I did hate you. And I think I needed that; to grieve. But I knew that it wasn't your fault. You didn't sink the yacht. You were a victim of the storm too... Five years; we say that now like its nothing. Just words, but you lived through five years of hell just like the rest of us and after today I realized that I... I was so focused on what happened to my family that I never stopped to wonder what happened to you. If there is peace in death, you were denied even that."

She swallowed thickly as she looked down at his shirt, imagining all the horrors he must have gone through. Oliver tried to regulate his breathing as he took in all the manifold emotions she laid bare before him. Hatred, guilt, grief, desperation and finally concern. He could see it in her eyes too, a mixture of curiosity and fear as she raised her gaze to him again. He could feel, then, where this was going, could almost taste the request burning on her tongue.

"I didn't know about the torture or about your scars... What happened to you on that island was far more than you deserved. And I was wrong that I didn't ask before, but I'm asking you now. I need to know. I need to see."

"Are you sure?" The words were out of his mouth before he could contemplate their wisdom. Something about Laurel's searching eyes, the slight tremble in her soft voice drew him in. He could feel his heart rate picking up as he looked into her eyes and waited for her nod. When she whispered her confirmation, he didn't hesitate before raising his hand to undo the buttons on his shirt. When they were all undone, he let his hand fall back to his side limply and waited for her scrutiny. He watched her carefully if passively while she opened his shirt and gasped at all the scars on his chest and abdomen. Her hand brushed along his side as she parted the shirt to see, sending an involuntary shiver up his spine at the soft touch. As she looked over the physical evidence of his torment, she sucked in air through her mouth to calm herself. He made a study of her eyes, filled with shock and horror and guilt, but no revulsion and most importantly no pity. She felt with him, not for him and that made his heart clench exquisitely in his chest. He dared barely breath for fear of breaking the moment when she raised her finger to trace the double scar over his left pectoral, cutting even through his Bratva tattoo, until her hand came to rest on his side.

"How did you survive this?", she asked shakily.

"There were times when I wanted to die," he admitted, making her eyes snap up to gaze at his face. "In the end, there was something I wanted more." Home. Vengeance. Justice. All his thoughts and feelings and Laurel's flushed face swirled through his mind as he looked at her with an almost uncanny calm. She looked back at him for a long moment. He felt her hand move from his chest to his shoulder and neck as gravity seemed to pull them together. Their lips pressed together only a short moment, before they opened up to explore one another. Their tongues danced as Oliver's hands grabbed her waist to pulled her closer and Laurel's hand shot up to scrape deliciously across his scalp. His own hand found its way into her soft locks, holding her more tentatively as they continued to kiss.

The door suddenly opened behind them, making them jump apart, though they didn't immediately turn to face the intruder. Laurel looked like a deer caught in the headlights until her phone rang loudly startling her. Frightened by her own actions, she answered hastily, rushing past him and Helena Bertinelli standing in the entrance.

"Don't...", he began to whisper when she slipped past him in a panic. "Laurel, please don't go."

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 _(Ted's Gym – Back Room)_

Ted watched her as she leaned against one of the desks, arms crossed over her chest and staring at the ground as if she meant to bore a hole into it. She hadn't said a word since she arrived, probably not since she ended the call after he told her the Hood wanted her at an arms deal across town from the Queen residence. Ted had thought that she would be relieved at evidence that helped acquit Oliver Queen, but instead Laurel seemed almost depressed. When she had come in, she'd thrown her purse down onto her chair in apparent frustration, over what he couldn't tell. Then she had proceeded to pace up and down the life-size dummy on which her costume was displayed until she finally came to a rest leaning against the desk moping. She hadn't even changed yet.

"Shouldn't you get ready?", he queried carefully.

"I'm not going."

Ted frowned. Then what was the point of coming here?

"He'll be gone by the time I get there," she explained.

"...Okay," he agreed hesitantly, "but clearly there's something else that's bothering you."

Laurel turned her head to look at her leather outfit. There was steel in her eyes as she raked them over the dark leather. She thought back about how she had started on this path, how right it had felt and wondered, not for the first time, how much of that was her and how much was due to her upbringing. Her parents had never wanted her or Sara to follow in their footsteps, but growing up on stories of Black Canary had practically guaranteed that their aspirations would align with their mother's crime-fighting career. Instead of wishing for shining knights and princesses, they had dreamed of caped crusaders and strong, independent heroines. Of course, that was before... As she continued to look at her own Black Canary costume, combining her mother's legacy with her own choices and agency, she wondered if five years of torture and fighting for survival on an island could condition someone as thoroughly as a lifetime of true bedtime stories.

She supposed it was a moot point now.

"At least Oliver is cleared now." She was speaking mostly to herself, but her partner took it as his cue anyway.

"Is he?", Ted asked doubtfully. Her head snapped around to him curiously.

"Even Oliver Queen can't be in two places at once."

"Maybe Oliver Queen can't, but what about the Hood?"

Laurel narrowed her eyes.

"It doesn't have to be Queen under the Hood this time."

"You mean in the short time he's been back, he's made a friend that's willing to risk going to jail for him if he doesn't get shot up by arms dealers first? And what, they tag-team his crusade against crime?"

Ted didn't even smirk.

"Babs dyed her hair for you that one time," he reminded her instead and she had to admit that he had a point. It wouldn't be the first time. Still, the timing was pretty tight. Oliver would have had to find someone right away or known someone beforehand. He hadn't brought anybody else back with him from the island – as far as they could tell anyway – and his family seemed to have no prior connections with vigilantes. Certainly nothing with an archer theme. The inquiries they'd sent out amongst their acquaintances had come up empty in regard. "I can't wear your leathers, but..."

"No, I know, it makes sense. It could minimize the risk of discovery and give each member of the 'tag-team' times to recuperate. I get it, it's just... I have only ever met one Hood. I may never have seen his face, but he had the same figure, height, gait, movements – you name it." Laurel looked straight at him. "If there were more than one, shouldn't I have come across the other by now?"

That question deflated Ted a bit. She had a point. It made little sense to have a partner fill your shoes only once in a blue moon, unless of course Queen was an extraordinary control freak. Alternatively, this could have been the first swap if the partnership was recent, but the timing for that was rather a little too perfect. Ted had to admit that it was a bit of a stretch considering these inconsistencies. Nonetheless, he was not willing to rule Queen out completely yet and by the look on Laurel's face she was at least conflicted about it too. She had returned to staring at her costume and Ted figured she would not say anything else for quite a while, so he startled a little when she spoke again.

"He was tortured."

Ted turned to look at her.

"Oliver was tortured on the island. That's where the scars came from. I-I saw them today. I shouldn't be telling you this..."

"I know," Ted admitted quietly. "There were pictures in the medical report. It looks like someone tried to carve him u- what's wrong?!"

Laurel had flinched as he spoke. Ted was out of his chair and in front of her in a second. A hand on her shoulder made her look up at him. Her eyes were shining as if she were fighting tears, but there was so much more anger mixed in with the pain than he had ever seen in her.

"He said that too, during the polygraph. Someone 'used a knife to carve on' him..." She paused to take a breath. "Like it was some kind of art project for them. Just a bit of fun. I've always known that there are some sick bastards in this world, but how- how-"

She couldn't finish the question. Ted drew her into a light hug.

"If it does turn out he's involved in this, I don't know if I can blame him," he confessed in a murmur. "Five years like that would mess anybody up... That doesn't mean he wouldn't need to be stopped."

"Don't tell dad we still suspect him. Not yet. After today, I want something concrete."

"Okay," he agreed, even though his stomach turned at the cleft that was opening between father and daughter.

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 _(Queen Residence)_

"Well, at least now we know why you keep following her around like a lost puppy," Helena smirked at him; he could hear it in her voice. "Roping her into being your lawyer – must be a new way to woo a woman that I haven't heard of. Or maybe an island way."

Oliver gritted his teeth. He buttoned up his shirt before turning around to face the intruder. His analytical gaze gauged her automatically. She wore a knee-length blue dress with matching heels. The crucifix was ever present around her neck and she a small diamond earring in each ear, but other than that she wore no jewelry. Her hair was open as usual, flowing softly around her neck and elbows and accentuating her beautiful, tragic face. He had felt a kinship with her suffering and he still did, but at the moment her inquiries and suspicions presented a threat he needed to deal with, lest he wanted risking exposure. He watched her close the door behind her before approaching him, her smirk remaining firmly in place. She smoothed away unnecessary creases in his collar, then moved to undo the first button again, so he grabbed her hands to remove them from his person.

"Aww, don't I get a peak," she pouted dramatically.

"Helena, I don't know what you're playing at, but I already told you-"

"You're not the Hood – and I'm just supposed to believe you?! Detective Lance makes good points, you know."

"Helena," he started, then stopped short as if suddenly had just occurred to him. "What is it with you and this hood guy. He's a remorseless psychopath; if you think I'm him, shouldn't you want to stay away? What do you want with him anyway?"

"Let's just say, it's a personal issue," Helena replied cryptically.

Oliver shook his head.

"I watch the news, too, Helena. There was a fight at your family home. The police are mum about it, but the reports suggests that the Hood and the Chinese were both involved," he told her. "Your father hasn't been seen since; there's some speculation that he... was taken... I'm sorry, Helena, but please tell me you're not our for revenge?"

She remained silent as expected. A buzz on his phone alerted him to a text from Diggle. It just read '1:0, no birds though' and Oliver had to suppress a sigh of relief that it had gone off without a hitch. There was a knock on the door and a waiter asked if he should send up some drinks. Oliver declined loudly, informing him that he'd make his way down soon and motioned for Helena to precede him, since he was certainly not leaving her alone in his room. She rolled her eyes, but complied by making her way to the door while Oliver continued to speak.

"That guy is a killer, Helena. Whatever he did to your father, please let the police handle it. Don't give him a chance to do it to y-"

He interrupted himself when he saw the waiter still outside the door as Helena opened it. A moment later, all hell broke loose. Helena pushed the other man's arm up, revealing a gun with a silencer to Oliver's eyes that thankfully fired in the air. He would have kept a grip on the hand with the weapon, but Helena chose to slam the door shut against the man's extended arm instead. He let go of the gun, allowing her to kick it across the room before the assassin shouldered the door open, making her stumble to the ground. He went after her to break a leg, but Helena kicked her heels at him. The distraction afforded her the time to get into a defensive position on the ground. Lying on her side and held up by her forearm, she used the other leg to kick at her attacker. Oliver, meanwhile, grabbed a lamp, conscious of both the necessity of survival and the danger of exposing himself. He swung it at the assassin, but the man ducked under it and, ignoring Helena, rammed into Oliver. The impact sent them both tumbling across the couch onto the floor. Oliver got up again, but staying close to the ground his attacker managed to kick his legs out under him, sending him sprawling on the floor again. He crawled away, trying to look for something he might use as a weapon. When he didn't immediately find something, he knew he had no choice but to trust Helena wouldn't march straight to the police. When the killer approached, Oliver kicked him in the face and shot up. Before he could grab his arm for support, trap the man between both his legs and roll him over however, Helena had jumped on him and scissored him to the ground.

"Break it," she ordered.

"Huh?"

"Your police anklet – break it!", she grunted when the assassin elbowed her in the stomach.

"Oh."

She caught the next attack while Oliver grabbed the lamp again to smash its base against his anklet. Their attacker grabbed her around the waist to lift her and ram her against the fireplace. Helena screamed in pain, but with the party going on downstairs, he doubted anybody would have heard it. She managed to get a foot in between them by distracting him with a palm strike that broke his nose and kicked him squarely away from herself. He tumbled over the couch once more as Oliver joined Helena, holding the lamp like a baseball bat. When either of them realized that she had kicked him toward his gun, they made a move to climb across the furniture, but the assassin had already rolled across the ground to grab it. As he rose to shoot them two gunshots rang out, making them flinch until they saw their attacker go to the ground. Looking over at the door, Oliver had never been so glad to see Detective Lance. He entered the room more fully to assess if there was any further danger before lowering his weapon.

"H-how-"

"He broke your tracking device in the fight," the detective answered without waiting for him to finish. Oliver felt like sinking to the ground in relief. He didn't bother correcting the detective's assumption, but he and Helena shared a look. They made their way downstairs where his mother, sister and step-father were already waiting, crowded together by the police's response team at the party, no doubt to make sure they weren't helping him escape. When he came into the room, his family closed in on him. Thea tucked herself into his embrace at seeing several abrasions starting to form on him from the fight and his mother hugged them both. Walter shot him a concerned look, but Oliver shook his head almost imperceptibly to indicate he hadn't been hurt. Helena, meanwhile, stood several feet away watching the scene unfold, until her attention was caught by an officer approaching Detective Lance to whisper in his ear. He dropped something into the detective's hand and motioned for the response team to leave. Curiously, Oliver followed the Lance's subsequent direction to sit down so he could remove the anklet.

"There's been several reports to the precinct that place the Hood busting up an arms deal, so the charges against you are being dropped, Mr Queen," he informed him grudgingly. "It seems you're not our guy."

"I can confirm that," Helena piped up with a smirk. "He's useless in a fight."

His family looked at her as if just noticing her presence, but Oliver took it with good humor. Mission accomplished, after all.

"Yes, thankfully you were there and you're an amazon."

She smiled, more gently this time.

"Considering how determined I was to slip away from his watch dogs, my father made me take combat classes."

"More like considering how many enemies he made as a mob boss," Lance grumbled, but Helena didn't bother to reply. She approached Oliver and placed a hand on his arm comfortingly.

"Despite everything... I'm glad you're okay," she murmured, then turned to his family. "It was nice meeting you all, though I would have hoped for better circumstances. Now I best get to the police station to make a statement."

With that, she excused herself, leaving a startled family in their home.

"Who was your girlfriend, Ollie?", Thea asked, somewhere between curious and impressed.

"Her name is Helena and she's not my girlfriend."

"But you are at the first name stage," Walter teased him and they shared a chuckle until Moira clearing her throat brought them all back to reality. The way she glared at the detective was certainly indicative that she hadn't forgotten all the pain and suffering he'd caused their family over his obviously gross misjudgment.

"My son was nearly killed because of your accusations, Detective Lance. If not the five years on Lian Yu, I hope that serves as enough penance for you to stop persecuting my son."

Lance was too stunned to answer, but he was not the only one. Oliver looked at his mother, who under his intense stare seemed to realize what she'd revealed. Then his gaze moved on to his step-father, who would look at him sadly, and his sister, who couldn't look at him at all. Oliver's chest constricted, a feeling of betrayal and panic rising in his gut and clenching around his wind pipe. He was on his feet in a heart beat as he continued to look from one face to the other. He barely even noticed Detective Lance leaving the room to give them privacy or to escape his own guilt, whichever. He narrowed his eyes at each of his loved ones, but ultimately his accusing gaze came to rest on his mother.

"You knew," he whispered. "All of you- how long?"

A beat of silence.

"...It came out in the news coverage of the incident and Detective Lance and his ex-wife were at the court when... when you were both officially declared d-dead," Moira finally answered. She approached him, but Oliver backed away incredulously.

"Why wouldn't you tell me? All this time I wondered what I'd done to him and all of you knew. Why would you keep this from me?"

"I didn't want to burden you more-"

"Bullshit," Thea interrupted. Then she looked at her brother before continuing. "We didn't think to tell you. I mean to us it was normal – we'd known for years. And when we finally realized that you had no clue, w-we... well, at least, I had no clue how to tell you. And you'd struck up a quick friendship with Laurel, so I thought... I thought she would tell you, so I wouldn't have to."

She stepped closer, pulling out the hozen from her pocket.

"And I know it was selfish, but I'd just got you back and yet not really. You aren't like I remember you, Ollie. You're distant half the time and I don't know how to approach you. You said this was supposed to connect us again – well, it hasn't. I still don't know you... and I didn't want, I didn't want to be the one to tell you, none of us did."

Oliver swallowed hard as he tried to make sense of it. His family hovered where they were, scared of running him off, but wanting to be close. Only he couldn't. He couldn't look at them at that moment, couldn't bear their proximity. It was driving him mad. His own guilt at the continuous performance he gave them was mixing with the anger at their betrayal. The thought of returning to his mother and his little sister had kept him going on the island. The thought of reuniting with them more so than even the hopes of making up for his father's sins. Sins by which he too felt polluted, even before he burdened himself with his own unforgivable actions. They had been the only unspoiled things he'd had to cling to on the island and now even that turned out to be a lie. Shaking with the effort even to breathe, he hurried upstairs to his room to be alone.

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Josiah Hudson sprinted up the last few steps of the stairs to the side entrance of the warehouse. This was the address Mr Steele had given him, where he would find the remains of the Queen's Gambit. He could still scarcely believe it, which was why he had decided to inspect the contents of the warehouse himself first, before fulfilling Mr Steele's request of moving them. He punched in the pass code he had been given and slipped through the door.

The giant empty hall echoed with its silence. There was nothing there. No wreck.

The door was suddenly pulled shut forcefully and Josiah turned around to face the man and woman hidden in the corner. Their identities surprised him. Apparently, he had been expected.

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 _(Graveyard – the next morning)_

When she reached the grave site, he was standing limply in front of the stone. A bouquet of white lilies still in his hand he looked lost as he continued to stare at the words on the smooth black stone as if they might change meaning if he just stared long enough. She approached him quietly, gently taking the lilies from his hand and laying them in front of the gravestone. She toughed one petal softly, feeling its delicate texture before rising to join Oliver. She pulled a folder out of her purse and handed it to him as this was the reason she had even come to see him. She had been somewhat surprised when she was told she might find him here. Mrs Queen had looked dejected at the news. When she had apologized again for Sara's loss, Laurel had simply taken her hand and squeezed it in reassurance.

"How did you know where to find me?"

"I spoke to your mother."

He huffed. Clearly there was something amiss, but as curious as she was, it wasn't her place to pry.

"My father told me what happened. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Helena and I managed to occupy him long enough for your father to arrive and save us."

"I wasn't aware you two were so close..." She bit her cheek after the words were out of her mouth. She had not meant to say that.

"What are these?", he changed the topic.

"The results of your polygraph. You passed."

"Told you." He gave her a small smile, but she couldn't find it within herself to reciprocate. Soon the smile vanished from his face as well. "What's wrong?"

"There is a slight spike when my father asked you if you knew anything about the Woman in Black. And if you lied on one, you could have lied on all of them."

"That's not-", he interrupted himself, embarrassed. Laurel cocked her head to the side as she watched his face flush. He gave her a meaningful look. "That's not what the spike is about."

She raised her eyebrows even as she felt herself flush in response.

"I-It's not the only one, though. There was a similar flutter when you answered my father's question about Iron Heights. It's where the vigilante saved me."

He looked right at her.

"What happened to believing me?", he asked carefully.

"Oliver, I saw your scars!", she exclaimed. "Going through that – I can't imagine it not changing you."

He looked away for the first time as if ashamed. Ashamed of his disfigurement or what his experiences had made of him?

"You know why I never wanted to talk about what happened to me there? Because if people knew, if you knew... you would see me differently. And not as some kind of vigilante guy."

He stopped when his throat constricted. He couldn't seem to force the words out for a moment as he looked at her.

"As damaged." His voice revealed how vulnerable he was. "I don't sleep. I barely eat. I can barely sign my name, let alone aim a bow and arrow."

Laurel swallowed and took a deep breath to calm herself.

"Oliver, there's nothing wrong with being damaged. You have a right to be hurt after everything you went through; I'd be worried if you weren't. Being damaged is not just a bad thing. It gives us room to know ourselves and grow with that knowledge and heal, come back stronger than we were before."

She grasped his hand.

"Pretending we're fine when we're not doesn't help us and anyone who doesn't understand that damaged doesn't mean wrong isn't worth your time or friendship. You may be damaged or broken, but you're not lost. And you're not alone. Take the pain and remember that it doesn't define you. Use it to heal yourself."

His hand raised itself to her face as if of his own accord, stroking across her cheek. When he leaned in to kiss her without thinking, she ducked her head so he ended up pecking her forehead. As he took stock of the last few seconds, he was almost relieved at her quick reaction.

"I'm sorry," he apologized. "I wasn't thinking."

"I know. Neither of us were," she replied, referring back to the previous night. "It seems clear that there is some attraction between us, but we can't-"

"I know."

"I won't take advantage of you."

"I know."

Without knowing when he moved, he was suddenly hugging her, clinging to her. His face buried in her hair, he breathed in her scent and let it calm him. Her hands ran soothingly across his back, her face tucked into the crook of his neck. His heart rate finally calmed, while his fingers ran through her soft locks. He didn't know what he had been thinking, either today or the night before. He could not afford the distraction Laurel could present if he followed his errant attraction to her to its natural conclusion. She would only get hurt in the end, as well, and he did not want to be the cause of more of her suffering. He had already taken so much, but neither could he wrench himself away from the fleeting comfort of her embrace. She had come to mean a lot to him in a short amount of time and her friendship was like a safe haven in which he now cocooned himself. For a brief moment, his world was quiet. He was loathe to give it up, which of course was precisely why he had to.

End of chapter 7!

A/N: I wasn't sure whether or not to keep the kiss in there, because in the series it stemmed so much from their history that just isn't there for this story... Ultimately, I decided to give them a whirlwind, uncertain moment where I'm not sure either of them really knew themselves, so... what do you think? Did it do these characters justice?

 **(1)** Okay, so I kept them growing up as sisters, but by adoption, not by blood. And with Sara as the older one. Both of which may be important later in the story (hint, hint). Being raised in Central City serves as a backdrop as to why Laurel, Tommy and Oliver don't know each other and the different surname is why Oliver didn't realize the connection immediately. Now, I mostly liked Sara as The Canary on the show, but to me she isn't Black Canary and I think much of what Laurel was supposed to be like going into Sara is one of the reasons Laurel was written progressively worse since season 2 and onward.


	8. Chapter 8

**Guardian Angels**

 **Summary:** AU/ After five years in hell, Oliver Queen has returned home with only one goal – to save his city. Unfortunately, nobody told him he'd have to wait in line.

 **A/N:** I felt I owed you a chapter before the turn of the year and this one fits so perfectly with the season. I hope you all had a very merry Christmas. Happy New Year to Everyone!

(Especially since I'm starting an internship January 2nd and probably still won't have a lot of time to work on this story beside work... I'm really sorry.)

 **TheMaster4444:** Well, you're in luck: this is the chapter. And I like the dynamic of Sara and Laurel as sisters gives to the story as well.

 **CraaazyaboutMalfoy:** I'm actually thinking of expanding her role, in a sense. I can't reveal too much, though. Helena, on the other hand, I can say will stick around a bit, though more as a supporting character than a main one.

 **RogueAngel82** : Well, she won't take Laurel's place in this story, but her story already has and will continue to add complexities.

 **Dante 101:** Everybody lies, but that doesn't really make it okay. Then there's also the torture, vigilantism, breaking and entering etc, which of course Laurel is equally guilty of. I'm hoping to create complex and ambiguous characters.

I hadn't really thought of that potential crossover, but you're certainly right that it's extremely intriguing. Unfortunately, given how rarely I manage to update this, I can't really consider starting another story. Have you considered writing something like that? You're welcome to borrow from my characterization of BC if you like.

 **Chapter 8: A Tale of Two Archers**

 _(Beta site)_

The clanking of the metal sticks and their heavy breaths were all that could be heard in the room for quite a bit. He repeated the same set of movements over and over until he had successfully drilled it into her. When it had gone over into muscle memory, he varied his approach by speeding up or sneaking in a surprise blow somewhere. He got away with it more often than not, but Helena was a quick study and she was quickly catching up on the game, even going so far as to attempt her own sneak attacks. He felt approval or maybe even pride bubble up inside him as he saw her analyze his movements and position for a potential opening. He didn't miss her attempted glance up his hood. While he didn't fault her for trying to even out the playing field between them, he did use her distraction to his advantage, switching up the game again. Instead of striking with the bar, he feigned in order to land a solid kick to her midriff. Taken by surprise, Helena groaned in pain as she was pushed backward a few steps. She stumbled and fell, but recovered quickly by rolling over so she could get up in an instant. The look she cast him was somewhere between determined and murderous.

"Again," he ordered roughly.

With a frustrated growl, she charged him. This time she ignored the parameters of the exercise and used everything she had at her disposal. Oliver, meanwhile, ducked and danced around the various swipes, strikes and kicks she tried to land on him. When she tried to get him with a round-house kick, he allowed the hit to his side in order to grab onto the leg as he had on the rooftop where he and Black Canary had discovered her identity. He indicated a strike to her vulnerable knee; his eyes were fixed on hers as he did in order to run home how incredibly vulnerable this position made her. Then he half-pulled, half-threw her to the side. She landed flat on her back, but as he approached she kicked him in the gut, making him stumble backward two paces. Using the momentary pause to straighten herself, she followed him with a palm strike intended for his hood-covered face. No doubt she hoped to pull his hood down while she was at it and even his mask might not protect him then. So he batted her attack aside, grabbing her wrist with his other hand and slamming his elbow into her side as he stepped into her. The he pressed a foot into the back of her knee while pulling her backward by the shoulder. He let gravity do the rest for him as he stepped back to watch her back hit the ground.

"You've got a ways to go," he announced as she pulled herself up. Then he went over to the cooler and grabbed two bottles of water. He threw one in her direction, which she caught mid-air without looking properly. Oliver nodded to himself. Target practice had clearly improved her attentiveness in regards to her peripheral vision. "Hydrate, then we'll do the salmon ladder."

"You mean I'll do the salmon ladder," she said before taking a big gulp from the water bottle anyway. "I swear you just like to watch."

The Hood said nothing.

"Honestly, what's the point of this?", Helena questioned. "You didn't even tell me about the arms deal."

"Not my fault you were too busy scuttling around that Queen brat," he deadpanned as an answer.

"You can't blame me for wondering..."

Oliver scoffed.

"I can blame you for your insulting choice." He didn't particularly enjoy denigrating himself, but whatever got the job done and dissipated any lasting suspicions on Helena's part.

" _Careful now, don't overdo it,"_ Diggle's voice rang quietly in his ear.

"Besides, you still lack training."

"I think I did just fine with Vanza."

True, no unnecessary deaths to report there. Still, the ease with which she threatened to hurt Vanza had worried him. _Just a little_ , she had said, but it was enough and for the wrong reasons. He wasn't exactly innocent when it came to beating information out of a criminal and history had shown that neither was Black Canary, but at the time Helena had issued her threat, she was only looking for revenge. There had been no information to gain and no point in sticking an arrow in Vanza's leg, even if she had argued that it was so he couldn't run before the police arrived. They could have tied him up and he told her so, but Oliver had to admit that it was still improvement over the massacre at the drug lab he and Black Canary had stumbled upon.

"And yet you nearly lost it with Nick," he argued back, then raised a hand when it looked like she was about to protest. "I understand a personal vendetta better than most, but you have to be smarter than this; you have to use your anger, not let it take you over, Helena."

Her jaw set defiantly.

"You said you'd help me bring my father to justice, but where is he now?! He's not in jail, that's for sure! He's still out there and we're here doing nothing-"

"We're not doing nothing!", he boomed at her, encroaching on her personal space to get her to back down, but Helena was not so easily intimidated. She held her ground in the face of his anger. At this distance, she could probably make out his eyes and mask under the hood, but the shadow over his face would be too dark to make anything out. His voice was deathly calm as he continued. "Your father is out of the city, possibly the country – there is nothing we can do about that at the moment, but I'm trying to help you Helena, to get you ready for when he comes back. Because you are letting your emotions cloud your judgment and it is going to get you killed! You have to become a better fighter and learn to control your anger, harness it to turn it into strength and motion if you want to survive out there as The Huntress."

His eyes may have softened. She reminded him so much of himself at times. New on the island, all that rage at his father and the storm and the whole bloody world boiling inside him. Laurel hadn't been entirely right; he had been lost. He had been a mess before Yao Fei, Shado and Slade had taken it on and helped him gain control and purpose. Together they had forged him into the man he was now. Now he had to do the same for Helena or else she'd go down a path he dare not think about. Diggle was already worried that she might be beyond saving, agreeing with Canary that there was something off about Helena, and he intended to prove them both wrong. She just needed a little guidance, but the hardest thing was perhaps making her see precisely that.

"Never knew you cared."

"And I never knew you wanted to stop criminals other than your father, but if I'm letting you come out there with me, I need to know you've got my back and that you can take care of yourself as well as-"

"The bird," Helena interjected.

"-me," he finished anyway, with a note of aggravation. This petty rivalry between the two women was a problem, but it was a problem for another day.

"So, partners?", she asked coyly.

Oliver scoffed again.

"When you can get up and down the salmon ladder without pause... and can keep up with me in sparring and improve your aim with the crossbow and your attitude toward maiming people... maybe," he snapped back.

Without warning Helena suddenly rushed forward. Oliver was so shocked by her sudden kiss that he didn't do anything for a few seconds. Then he felt Helena open her lips and nip at his and his body just went on autopilot for a moment. He put a hand behind her head to pull her closer to him. Tongues meeting he walked her backward to one of the support beams until her back hit concrete and they were flush against one another. A small part of his brain managed to wonder what he was doing. Sure, Helena was gorgeous and their similar experiences and lifestyle drew him to her even before he knew she was the Huntress, but he wasn't looking for a relationship or even a regular bedmate. He had too much on his plate without complicating his life with a woman. The distraction she would pose was the precise reason he had been so glad when Laurel-

He drew backward in a haste, detaching himself from Helena completely and putting a good few meters between them. Looking around for anything to do that would keep him from looking back at Helena's flushed face and mussed hair, he picked up the water bottle he had dropped when she started kissing him. Walking over to a nearby table to put it down, he quietly reiterated to himself all the reasons this was a bad idea. All the _relevant_ reasons anyway... Trying to squash any remnant sensations and memories, he opened the case that held her training crossbow. Realizing her thirst for vengeance he had made sure to get a sporting crossbow for training and locked away the real thing. Not that that would stop her if she truly wanted to cause damage as she could get a new weapon anywhere in the city, but it was the best he could do to keep Huntress under wraps.

"Salmon ladder, then target practice," he instructed. "There's somewhere I need to be."

And if he made a beeline for the exit upon hearing her parting words, well, that was neither here nor there.

"Merry Christmas," her purr reverberated in his mind.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Queen Consolidated)_

When he entered his office that morning, Walter went straight to his desk, unlocking the upper drawer to assure himself the contents were still there. He looked at the tiny leather booklet. While Moira had been worried for her son, he had used Oliver's party as a distraction to quietly search the places his wife frequented the most. Finally he had found the booklet hidden in a grandfather clock in their bedroom. When he opened it, it had seemed empty, but by that point Walter was far too suspicious to let it go. No one would hide an empty book, so he took it to Queen Consolidated with him, not quite sure what to do with it yet. He thought of contacting Felicity Smoak, but this wasn't quite her area of expertise as it lacked a digital component. His chief of security would likely be more adept at solving the mystery this posed. Josiah had not contacted him again after going to see the Gambit and he'd just thought that his chief of security was being careful. After all, moving the remains of a giant yacht discretely took time and planning. Walter had thought that Josiah would contact him once everything was done.

Instead a few days after the mess with Oliver was cleared up, he found Josiah Hudson's resignation letter on his desk.

He squashed it between his hands as he looked out the window to the docks. It seemed he would rely on Felicity's help after all. Movement caught his eye from the street leading to Queen Consolidated's plaza. A woman was getting out of a slick black limousine. He narrowed his eyes; even at that distance Walter would recognize her amongst millions. He walked out the office, informing his PA that he would be out for a bit in passing. Before he could make his way to the elevator, he was stopped when his PA indicated a person sitting in the front room, waiting for him.

"I didn't recall I had any appointments this morning. I'm sorry, Mr...?"

"Edward Banning, sir, and we didn't have an appointment, but I was hoping to steal five minutes of your time."

"Now is not the best-"

"It's about your former Chief of Security, Josiah Hudson," the other man said tentatively. It certainly caught Walter's attention, but he forced his face to remain pasive.

"Go on."

"I am a security consultant at Merlyn Global. Mr Hudson has applied for a job with our firm and listed Queen Consolidated as a reference."

That was odd. He had only skim-read over it, but Josiah's resignation letter had mentioned wanting to spend more time with family and work less. So then why would he apply to another large internationally operating company?

"Mr Hudson was always an excellent security officer. Competent, discrete and respectful to everyone," he informed Mr Banning quietly. The other man looked somewhat mousy, but when they shook hands his petite appearance had hidden a strong grip. Walter felt slightly uneasy as he continued. "I have only good things to say about him and I am sure so do his colleagues."

"That's certainly good to hear," Banning replied with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Would you mind writing a recommendation letter and sending it to me at your earliest convenience?"

Then why come see him personally, Walter wondered, but nodded and promised to do so, just as the elevator binged and Moira joined them. She looked between him and Mr Banning with an air of suspicion and, though she was courteous, she remained cool toward the other man. There was a glint of steel in her eyes that he hadn't seen since Detective Lance accused him of having hired an assassin to kill his competition in the Unidac Industries bid a while back. Then she had taken the detective aside and likely given him quite the lecture. Now she simply observed the man attentively. As she shook hands with him, her eyes drifted down, so Walter was sure she too had noticed his surprising strength.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(CNRI)_

When the door to the roof opened, Laurel was hunched against a corner. Her arm wrapped around her knees, her chin rested on top of them and she had a definitely dejected look about her. He approached her slowly and cleared his throat to draw her attention, but she didn't acknowledge him exactly. She made an almost imperceptible motion with her hand that he took as invitation to sit down next to her. He hesitated only for a brief second, thinking of sitting in the dirt of the roof in his expensive suit, before he decided to hell with it. Plopping himself down on the ground, he scooted close to her and wrapped one arm around her tentatively. When she didn't protest or shrug it off, he secured her to his side a little more firmly and waited for her to speak.

Laurel glanced over at him. Face open, gentle smile, kind eyes; his arm around her shoulders. It looked inviting. She could just let herself fall against him, rest her head on his shoulder and maybe figuratively cry on it a little until she had let all those interfering emotions out. Frustration, confusion and guilt – a combination she experienced more often these days. Her life had been complex, but not really complicated before. She'd had a job she loved, a night job that fulfilled her, parents and a partner who supported her and friends she kept these secrets safe from for their benefit and hers. She had never had to account for stupid, pretty playboy billionaires and gruff, mysterious vigilantes or a potentially deranged mafia broad before. At least not in Starling. Crime in her city had always been very run-of-the-mill and she thanked her lucky stars every day that she wasn't working in Gotham or her life would look completely different.

Then maybe all of this wouldn't be so confusing, though.

She mentally shook herself, wondering when she had regressed to an insecure teenager.

"Last I found you here, it was because Oliver had been a total jerk. Did he do something again? 'Cause, you know, I meant it when I said I'd stick him in charm school," Tommy finally broke the silence.

Laurel chuckled quietly.

"Actually, I did something," she finally replied. "But I'm not sure if-"

She looked up at him uncertainly. Oliver was his best friend; it wouldn't be fair to drag Tommy into this mess they had inadvertently created. He didn't need to hear her whine about how stupid she had been, taking advantage of his best friend after all the horrors he had been through and from which he was clearly still reeling. She shook her head at him, indicating that he should forget she ever mentioned it.

"Won't you tell me, please," Tommy asked seriously, tightening his grip around her shoulders to draw her closer. "I want to help."

"I... I shouldn't."

"Laurel, you can tell me. Whatever it is. I promise."

She bit her lip, trying to think it through, but in the end it rushed out of her because she really wanted to tell somebody and she dare not tell Ted or her father.

"I kissed him," she blurted out. "I can't tell you the details, but something happened at the polygraph. I came to talk to Oliver about it at the party and... somehow... we, I... I stupidly kissed him."

Tommy swallowed. Well, it shouldn't surprise him. There had been a sort of tug and pull between the two of them since they met that first day in court. The activist lawyer had left quite an impression on the both of them. Still, with his friend being so distant to everyone, he couldn't say that he had expected anything would come of it. Now apparently it had and Laurel seemed mortified about it. He wondered if Oliver had tried to seduce her the way he had often done before the island, but somehow Laurel felt responsible like she was the aggressor just for kissing him. He didn't know what had happened at the polygraph and he knew Laurel couldn't tell him due to lawyer-client privilege, but whatever is was seemed to have changed her perspective of Oliver and her dynamic with him. It sounded almost like she thought she should protect him from something... Himself? Herself? Tommy couldn't quite see clearly on the issue, but he kept his thoughts to himself for the time being. Instead he focused his attention back on Laurel.

"Well, did he protest?"

There was a long pause, wherein Tommy considered rephrasing the question. He had meant to lighten the mood, but clearly it had only made her more pensive.

"It's not... We agreed that it was a stupid mistake and that it mustn't happen again," Laurel finally answered.

"So, sounds like it's done."

"I guess..."

"Then why are you still beating yourself up over it?"

"Because I feel awful. It shouldn't have happened in the first place and I just..."

"Feel awful... You know what helps me when I feel down?"

She raised an eyebrow, thinking of his arrests.

"Distraction," he told her without commenting on the look she gave him.

"...Yeah, I guess I should get back to work," she teased, knowing full well that was not what he meant.

"You are so boring," Tommy whined. "Plus, it's late and I have a better idea."

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Queen Residence)_

"Where are you going in such a hurry, Speedy?", Oliver asked his little sister teasingly. He just caught her as he entered the house making her way toward the stairs. Before he could close the door behind him, he felt a pressure pushing it inward again. Making way and turning his head to see who it was, he watched Tommy step inside with a reluctant Laurel in tow. When Oliver caught her gaze, she looked back at him awkwardly, but tried to smile to hide it. He felt himself a little off center as he had not expected her to be there. "Uh, hi."

"Hi Ollie," Tommy greeted with too much cheer in his voice to not be suspicious. "Your mother invited me to her dinner party. I hope you don't mind, but I brought a friend."

"He dragged me from work, but if it's a bad time, I can-"

"Don't be silly," Thea chimed in. "You can have my seat, they won't even miss me."

"And you're avoiding this, why?", Oliver scolded.

"Because they are dreadfully boring; a bunch of middle-aged men and our mother talking about business and politics. I'd rather sit alone in my room with internet access."

"Aren't you just spreading the Christmas cheer?!", Tommy joked.

The comment hit Oliver. Looking around he suddenly realized that there were no wreaths or garlands or Christmas trees anywhere in sight. No mistletoe or red bows, no eggnog or candy canes. How had he missed that all this time? The house didn't look at all like Christmas was just around the corner, but as if this were just another months of the year. He realized that none of his family had even mentioned Christmas so far, even though it had been one of the biggest holidays in this house growing up. Bright and cheerful and full of friends to celebrate it with, never just forgotten about.

"Thea, why aren't there any Christmas decorations up yet?"

Now the others, too, looked around as if noticing the lack of decorations as unnatural for the first time. Laurel seemed genuinely surprised by the discovery, but Oliver could see Thea and Tommy exchange a quick glance and knew without a doubt that the next thing out of Thea's mouth would likely be an evasion. His younger sister ducked her head and wouldn't meet his eyes, though she kept glancing around the room almost guiltily.

"I guess everyone has just been too busy. You know, with everything that's been going on and all," she replied quietly, fidgeting in her spot.

"Come on, we better join the others – and I should probably alert Moira that I brought you," Tommy cut in before Oliver could question the issue further. He swallowed any further questions for the time, but decided to investigate the issue later. Instead Oliver gestured for Laurel to precede him as they followed Tommy into the dining room. Before leaving the atrium he caught Diggle reentering the house after having been at the alpha site to keep up with local chatter. He told his friends that he'd be right there and joined his body guard at the door. The grim look on his partner's face suggested that whatever he'd discovered was urgent.

"What is it?"

"Someone attacked Adam Hunt last night," Diggle told him quietly, holding up a tablet to show him a picture from a news report showing the victim with three arrows in his chest. "The police think it's the Hood."

Oliver narrowed his eyes. It was an understandable assumption, even if the arrows clearly didn't match. As far as the police knew he was the only archer in town and therefore the only suspect, even if it made no sense for him to kill Adam Hunt when he had already taken away everything from the man.

"The triplet in his chest is tight; this was done by an expert archer."

"Like you," Diggle noted.

"Like me, but not me."

"I know, but everyone else is going to think just that."

"Maybe not everyone," Oliver mused. At Diggle's confused look, he elaborated. "Archers are particular about their weaponry. Unless he makes them himself, they are probably custom made, so they should be traceable."

"So we get one from the police."

A voice called him from the dining room.

"Get back to the club and contact BC." Here he gave Diggle a meaningful look. "She must have an in with the police. Maybe she can get a copy of the police's results- I gotta go."

He quickly joined the party at the dining table. He excused his prolonged absence due to details for his club's planned opening that required his urgent attention as he found his spot sitting between his mother at one and of the table and Tommy sitting on his other side. Laurel had been seated next to Tommy's father Malcolm who was opposite Oliver. He cast a quick glance at Tommy and Laurel, unsure how to feel about his best friend and the women he... showing up together, but Laurel was decidedly not meeting his eye and Tommy was smirking into his wine glass. Frowning Oliver asked to be brought up to speed on the topic of the conversation to distract himself from wandering thoughts.

"I was just thanking Mr Merlyn and your mother again for all their help in keeping CNRI afloat," Laurel told with a shy smile.

"Oh, you should thank my son Tommy, then. He argued your case so convincingly in front of me and the board that I thought he might have a future as a lawyer," Malcolm joked after putting down his napkin. "I'm just picking up the bills."

He was smiling, but there was something in Malcolm tone that made Oliver and Laurel a bit uneasy. Tommy ducked his head in embarrassment, but whether at his father's praise or at whatever implication his words carried they couldn't be sure. Nonetheless, everyone raised their glasses along with Malcolm to celebrate Tommy and CNRI with a brief cheer.

"And now maybe you can help us out, Oliver, since you're the someone who's actually met him," Malcolm soon suggested.

"Met whom?", Oliver queried confused.

"The Hood," Tommy interjected. "Terrible nickname if you ask me, but they've been arguing whether he's a gift or a curse on the city."

"You see," Malcolm explained, "our Chief of Police thinks he's a criminal psychopath who needs to be stopped, but I pointed out that crime has gone down for the first time in five years-"

"-All due to our new departmental policies, Mr Queen, I assure you. Don't let yourself be goaded into anything by Mr Merlyn," Police Commissioner Brian Nudocerdo chimed in.

"-and the Woman in Black, let's not forget her," Tommy also added. "She saved my buddy's life when the Royal Flush Gang took him hostage."

At this statement, Oliver saw the commissioner choke and chortle a little, though he tried to hide it with a cough. He thought it an unusual reaction, especially since Nudocerdo subsequently said nothing about Black Canary's own vigilantism. Further proof, Oliver thought, that his on-and-off partner in crime seemed to act, if not with the blessing of the police then with their passive complacence. They tolerated her and he wondered why. Aside from the lack of killing, her methods didn't seem that different from his, so what made her so special. In any case, he decided it was time to divert the conversation. Any involvement in this topic could risk his exposure and he couldn't have that.

"I think he needs a better nickname than the Hood," Oliver said, smiling and feigning neutrality as best as he could. Or ignorance, some might say.

"I agree – something less threatening, perhaps. How about Green Arrow?", Laurel suggested quietly.

"Lame," Oliver said as the same time as Nudocerdo turned to look at her disapprovingly.

"Less threatening – Ms Lance, I don't think anything should be done to mask what this man has proven himself capable of. There's plenty of bodies in the morgue with one of his arrows in them. I would have thought that you, the daughter of a police officer, would understand that of all people."

"I do understand that, Commissioner, but do you understand this? He also broke into a prison to save my life and helped prevent an innocent man from being executed," Laurel challenged calmly. "I certainly agree that he broke the law and should face justice, but blindly vilifying him is not justice. It's sweeping under the rug the complex nuances of a difficult case. Basically, it's lying."

"Isn't that what lawyers do, Ms Lance?", the commissioner asked her testily.

Oliver was about to say something to avoid any further argument when the buzzing of a phone could be heard clearly from where Laurel's purse hung over the back of her chair. She took it down, breaking eye contact with the commissioner and thereby diffusing the situation at least a little. She didn't pull her phone out, but clearly checked to see who was calling. A small, rueful smile spread across her face as she got up.

"Unfortunately, yes, too often it is," she told them sadly. "I'm sorry. It's work; I have to take this."

All eyes followed her out the door. Oliver was about to get up to follow her when another phone buzzing distracted them again. This time, Walter's deer-caught-in-the-headlights look was beyond comical, particularly as it was offset by his mother's disapproving glare for bringing work home to their dinner party with him. He excused himself quickly and walked out in the opposite direction from Laurel. Then an aide approached Nudocerdo and whispered something in his ear. He got up and addressed Moira directly.

"I'm sorry too, but it seems I'm needed at the precinct. Please excuse me."

"Seems there's a bit of an Exodus," Malcolm joked brightly, then ducked his head when Moira's glare fell on him.

After the commissioner left, everyone else just sat numbly for a minute. They looked around in a daze as if waiting for the next person to receive a message and leave until at least Walter returned and dinner resumed.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Hideout/Queen Residence)_

Diggle had rushed back to the club, but even ignoring a few traffic regulations and using back ways, traffic to and from the Glades at this hour was hell. He kept the radio on in case any news came in as well as turning on their illegal police radio to see if any of the chatter related to the issue. Once inside, he had to briefly search for the secure phone, until he realized that Oliver had forgotten to take it out of his uniform when he had last gone out. Digging it out of the pocket it was securely zipped into he dialed the only number programmed in.

"Yes," was all the greeting she gave, trusting the voice distorter she had fitted to the phone.

"Adam Hunt was shot to death by three arrows tonight. It wasn't me," Diggle informed her, keeping with the charade that the Hood worked alone.

"And?", she said when he didn't immediately continue.

"Do you believe me?"

"Do you care?"

Diggle cursed internally. The issue with Helena had clearly still not blown over; apparently Black Canary was one to hold a grudge. He wondered how best to respond to that. He had to answer in the affirmative if he wanted to get anywhere with her tonight, but without opening Oliver's persona up to vulnerability or otherwise uncharacteristic behavior. The bodyguard bit his lip; obviously they should have discussed this a bit further. Or, here was an idea, Oliver could call his dominatrix girlfriend himself next time!

"I care that there is another archer on the street, possibly working his way through my previous... acquaintances and I need your help to catch him." He hoped that was the right thing to say as he listened to the silence on the other end.

Finally...

"...What do you need?"

Diggle may have pumped a fist in the air.

"A copy of the police's investigation into the arrows. If they are custom made, they should be traceable."

"I'll see what I can do," she answered tentatively and Diggle could hear a 'but' coming. "But-"

There it was.

"We're in this together. No stupid solo tour this time."

"Aww, did you miss me?", he couldn't resist taunting.

The line went dead. Diggle banged his head against the table and hoped, knowing better than to piss of an angry woman even more by harassing her with calls.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

Walter walked from the dining hall into the living room, dismissing the guard when he saw him standing by the windows. When he answered the phone, Felicity was surprisingly on-target without her usual endearing babble. This alone would have worried him, but her slightly panicked voice made it even worse. He tried to follow her rushed explanation, but had to ask her to start at the beginning in the end because one word drifted into another due to how scared she was.

"Run that by me again, please, Felicity."

"Okay, so I did a couple of tests to find out what's so special about this book and it took a while, but it turns out the book contains a list, but you can't see it because it's written in invisible ink. Heat activates the chemical process by which it becomes visible again."

"Okay, and?"

"This is where it gets scary. I didn't see it immediately, 'cause the list is so long and I didn't recognize all the names, but Adam Hunt and Jason Brodeur are on there. And other victims of the vigilante as well."

"Wait," Walter interjected surprised. "So it's his list?"

"Yes – well, that's possible," Felicity replied, uncertain. Tentatively she went on. "Or he could have gotten it from someone else like you and he's just... I don't know, working his way through it."

"But why?"

"I don't know, sir," Felicity admitted. "I will continue to look into it, but there's something you needed to know tonight... Dr. Doug Miller, the head of Applied Sciences at Queen Consolidated, is also on the list. He could find an arrow in his stocking this year if we don't do something. Should we warn him?"

"I'll take care of it... But why would he be on that list?"

He could hear Felicity clear her throat nervously on the other end.

"Why does your wife have a copy?"

"I didn't say-", he started denying, but then realized that with what he had asked her to look into previously, it wasn't so big of a stretch and Felicity was incredibly clever after all. "That obvious?"

"A bit. Don't worry, sir, I won't say anything," she assured him. "Or, you know, use it to blackmail you or anything. I promise. I mean, not that my word means anything to you, but really, I find that sort of business rather distasteful – not to mention illegal, of course – and so I'm not going to-"

"Felicity..."

"Calm down? Yes, Mr Steele," she finished sheepishly, even though he was glad she seemed to be back to her usual self.

"I trust you."

A beat passed and he could hear her gasp. Then...

"Thank you. I won't disappoint you."

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(SCPD)_

When the commissioner arrived at the police station, it seemed almost like the entire staff was in a state of emergency. He hadn't seen the station so bustling with busy officers since the first reports of a tall blond woman in a black leather outfit had come in the first time. And then again, he supposed, when that same woman had turned up again almost two years ago now after a prolonged absence. The police departments under his care had been awash with rumors then and now Nudocerdo could hear them whisper in corners and pass on notes once more. He ignored all of it and the questioning glances to boot and made his way to a small conference room at the back. The white board at the front of the room was covered in crime scene photographs from Adam Hunt's apartment and the desks were stacked with case files from the Hood's activities and even two arrows, one green and one black. The commissioner frowned at them when he saw Detective Lance at the front of the room.

"As you can see the arrows don't match either in color or design," he was telling everyone pointing at the two weapons on the table. Indeed, the arrowheads were as significantly different as the colors. "Additionally, the Hood had already shut down Adam Hunt's Ponzi scheme, so it would make little sense to kill him now."

"Maybe he's tying up loose ends, sir?", one young police officer suggested.

"What loose end?", Quentin countered. "If Hunt knew anything about the Hood, the vigilante would have killed him right away. Or it would be common knowledge among our criminal underworld now and at that point, we would have heard from one of our CIs."

"That's why we think it's a copy cat," Lance's partner spoke up. "Someone who has followed the Hood's progress and decided to jump in."

"Yes and it has to be someone with an extensive background in archery, because they would need training to pull this off," Quentin added.

"Detective Lance, I need a word."

Quentin looked at the commissioner and sighed inwardly. They had gotten the directive late last night to tell everyone that the vigilante was responsible, so he wasn't surprised that Nudocerdo wasn't too keen on his little task force. He followed his superior into a nearby interrogation room.

"I thought I had made myself clear last night. I told you the Hood is responsible for this."

"With all due respect, sir, you told me to tell the public we suspect the Hood for this and I did. Which is the perfect cover to investigate the real culprit while he deems himself safe from police scrutiny."

The commissioner all but growled.

"You're suggesting there's two of them based on different colored arrows – oh, thank god they color-coordinate their outfits and weapons! Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?! There is no evidence that this is anyone other than-"

"Sir, there is plenty of evidence," Quentin argued back. "The Hood usually leaves his victims alive if they comply with his demands. It would make no sense to go back on that now."

The commissioner fumed, even though he knew Lance was right on this one. Still, he had given the detective clear instructions and he was used to subordinate officers following his orders without question. He did not appreciate having his authority undermined by one of his detectives. Nonetheless, he had to admit that the plan made sense and at least the detective had kept the public out of this. The last thing Starling's police needed was to admit that there were two of those nutjobs out there on the streets.

"And you know as well as I, sir, that just wishing there wasn't a copy cat doesn't make him disappear. If we ignore him, he'll just claim more victims," Quentin was still trying to sell his idea. Something he should have done before implementation, but as always it was easier to ask for forgiveness than to ask for permission. The commissioner opened his mouth to say something, one hand raised to placate him, so Quentin felt hopeful, but his phone binged and distracted them.

"Story of this evening," the man muttered while Quentin pulled out his... not-work phone. He turned away from the commissioner to read his daughter's text asking him for a report on the arrows used in Adam Hunt's murder once they were in. Nudocerto raised an eyebrow while he waited, but ultimately sighed. Perhaps it was time to address the elephant in the room. "What does she say?"

"She, sir?"

"You worked with The Black Canary back when your career had just started and I'm supposed to believe she didn't contact you again when she returned," the commissioner snorted. "Let's not forget who helped bury the issue."

"A copy of the report for the arrows."

The commissioner frowned.

"For herself and the Hood."

"Absolutely not!"

"If this is a copy cat, I think it's safe to say they are our best bet at stopping him. Do you honestly disagree?", Quentin asked, even though he wanted to bite his tongue off for so much as considering help from the lunatic. Not that his daughter would give him a choice and he'd rather not have her go after the other archer blindly. When the commissioner didn't answer, he nodded. "Didn't think so. I'll get it done. Discretely."

Once his superior had nodded his, admittedly reluctant, approval, Quentin made his way back to the conference room. His partner had taken over the discussion of the case. They had already sent one arrow for analysis and he quietly whispered to their tech guy that he wanted a copy of the results as soon as they came in. He agreed, but warned him that it might take a few days because they were running a number of additional tests and were still busy running evidence from previous cases. Quentin wanted to curse CSI out loudly, but then his eyes fell on the black arrow in the middle of the table and he remembered that the Hood had brought his daughter along on the Deadshot case. Clearly, they had a way of communicating. As much as he hated Laurel's reckless affiliation, he had to admit that it might be useful this time around – if he could get her an arrow to analyze...

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(The Roof)_

 _This_ _i_ _s habit-forming_ , he thought, which was dangerous. When he hopped onto the roof she was already there waiting for him. Her back was to him, but he could see by the way her shoulders tensed that his arrival had not gone unnoticed. When she turned around, he expected to see a folder or a stack of papers in her hands, but instead she held out an arrow to him, black as the night that surrounded them. He approached her quietly to study the deadly weapon. The arrowheads were neither solid nor smooth like his. Instead they curved to approximate a funnel shape, three slim metal strands. It made him wonder whether they were meant to shatter upon impact with bones to cause maximum damage to the body. The pointed back edges would also rip the flesh further apart if some unfortunate soul decided to try pulling one of them out of the wound.

"They look nasty," Canary commented. "Police report will take a few days, so I got you one of these instead. I would research them myself, but I thought they might require an expert opinion."

"Well, they're certainly custom-made. It takes some expertise to make solid, flat arrowheads – I'd expect these to require machine precision," he admitted as he took the arrow from her to take a closer look at the shaft. "I'll find out where they came from."

"Good. When you do, remember our deal," she reminded him firmly.

Oliver frowned, his head cocked to the side. He didn't understand why she would bring this up now. They weren't even close to finding this other archer and she already felt the need to remind him that he had promised her not to kill when they were working together. Particularly considering that she wouldn't be there unless he shared his findings with her, something he doubted he would given this archers personal vendetta against him. Some threats were best eliminated permanently, irrespective of what she thought on the matter. And so long as he kept her out of the loop, she couldn't really complain, although he had no doubt that he would not hear the end of it for a while. Suddenly he worried that this step might push her too far, especially such a short time after Helena. Perhaps it was time to brace himself for an all out fight between the two of them.

"Hood, I mean it. You're not going back on this," she warned him, making him grit his teeth.

"Sometimes things must be renegotiated."

"Not this time," she told him firmly.

" _Ah, I think that's my f_ _ault_ _,"_ Diggle's voice came over the commlink. _"She agreed to help me, well you, but only if you t_ _w_ _o – and I quote – were in this together."_

Oliver cursed quietly.

"This isn't safe. We have no idea what he wants, but he is good. At least as good as me," was what he said out loud. A friendly warning, hoping to get her to back off. The look of incredulity she sent his way was less than reassuring.

" _That's not going to work,"_ his partner commented dryly.

"Even more reason to stick together," she pointed out to him, a hand on her hip. "Whatever he wants, if he's as dangerous as you think, I'm not having you go behind my back on this one."

Oliver flinched, knowing exactly what she was referring to. He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other and hissed into his comm, warning Diggle it would be better for him not to comment. His hand clenched around the black arrow, before he forced himself to calmly shove it in his quiver with the other arrows. That was where it would be most secure until he could take a crack at it, or rather let a certain acquaintance of his track it back to its owner. Meanwhile, he took in her rigid posture, the displeased set of her mouth and sighed. Maybe Diggle should have partnered up with her; their expressions certainly matched when it came to The Huntress.

"I haven't seen much of your sidekick lately. She wasn't even spotted at that arms deal. Was she not invited to the party?"

"She was too busy prowling around pretty boy Queen to worry about the job – or the training she still needs," Oliver replied testily. He saw her jaw shift as she looked briefly to the ground. "I wonder, is that where you were instead of at the arms deal."

She said nothing. She didn't have to. Whether she had been at the trial or not, following the news coverage and posing as a waitress at the party to keep an eye on him – or not – it was obvious to both of them that she had investigated the possibility. Of course she had. He would have done the same thing if somebody had been arrested for her actions. He would have turned that woman's life upside down before letting it go. Unfortunately, he had nothing to go on but speculation about a possible profession or partners in the police department. He could try to find them, but unless he planned on following them twenty-four seven that wouldn't do him much good either. Which made him wonder if she had been satisfied with what cover he had built for himself as Oliver Queen. Admittedly, an alibi is hard to refute when the Hood was seen across town, but still he would probably have dug a little deeper, maybe even confronted the accused. No one had really approached him (the press had been kept far away) and asked him about being the vigilante, except Detective Lance, the DA and his own lawyer.

Why hadn't she come for him?!

He was still musing over everything that had happened in recent times, trying to piece together, when his mind registered the sound of her receding footsteps. She was walking to the edge of the roof, effectively ending their conversation. Out of impulse, Oliver breached the distance and pulled her back to face him by her shoulder. She turned reluctantly, but neither acknowledged nor removed his hand as it remained rooted on her shoulder and squeezed.

"Is it always going to be this way now?", he asked her carefully. "'Cause I don't want that – this hostility between us."

He watched her take a deep breath, but she remained silent.

"I gave Helena a chance because... You gave me one. Can't you do the same for her?"

"...I already am."

"No, not really," he ground out. His hand fell from her shoulder. She just couldn't see it.

"I don't trust her. I'm sorry, but I don't and that's not something I can just change," she replied, exasperated. He started to back away himself, but her hand on his chest stopped him dead in his tracks. He felt a weight against his chest from something she held. Looking down he realized it was the ghost phone he had given her. "But... for what it's worth... if you need me, I'll always do my best."

And wasn't that reassurance mixed with a warning?! What if her best meant trying to take him in? Still, somehow he did feel reassured, because they were back on familiar ground. Her small smile, sad as it was and he didn't want to think about why, quietened his concerns as he watched her pocket the phone again and turn to leave. A smirk then graced his features.

"Is this when I get to tell you 'I told you so', then?"

" _You should have stopped while you were ahead,"_ Diggle groaned.

"Not yet. She's still in training, so your experiment is not over yet," she reminded him, but it did little to prevent his chuckle. He left it at that and let her go, no need to push their strange partnership any further for one night. Instead he looked at the sky, cursing the hours he would have to wait before he could poke Felicity Smoak's brain for a way to trace back the black arrow.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Queen Consolidated)_

Felicity was working on her tablet when he walked into her office space. She raised an eyebrow when she realized who had just strutted back into her life. Oliver bloody Queen. Playboy billionaire, college reject and potential serial killer/ Starling city vigilante. Whatever gave her the dubious honor of being on the list of people he talked to more than once, she wondered what had brought him by this time. She certainly hadn't forgotten the smashed laptop he had brought by her office, claiming it was his when it actually belonged to Warren Patel. She had accused him of undermining his mother's second marriage then, but that was before the Exchange Building had been shot up by an unknown assailant. When Mr Steele had requested to see her to have her investigate his wife's million-dollar transaction, she had presumed he had somehow discovered that she had hacked one of his competitors' laptops. So she had inadvertently spilled the guts. Mr Steele had looked concerned, but had subsequently moved on and never mentioned it again, so she had thought that he'd had a quiet chat with his stepson and that the matter was settled.

Apparently not.

She quickly closed the window that contained various names from the list she had uncovered. She'd had it open when her tablet had gone into energy saving mode, so it had popped right back up when she unlocked the screen. Placing the tablet face down at the farthest point on her desk from where her visitor stood – she cringed internally when she realized how that must look; like she was shopping while she was supposed to work – she gave him an expectant look. This should be good.

"What can I do for you?"

She found the suddenly earnest look he put on his face almost adorable.

"My buddy Steve is really into archery. Apparently is all the rage now with the vigilante and all."

"Yeah, don't know why. Looks utterly ridiculous to me," she interjected.

"Hmm-hmm," he hummed in a deadpan, nodding imperceptibly. It almost seemed as if he were put out by her negative reaction. Well, she hardly had to like his rich friends' stylish new hobby that they'd move on from in three months when it wasn't all the rage anymore. Felicity bit her lower lip. She'd always had snark, but she wondered when she became a cynic. Maybe it was when considering that Oliver Queen may be their vigilante... His voice refocused her attention. "Anyway, it's Steve's birthday next week and I want to buy him some arrows. Thing is, he gets these special, custom-made arrows and... well, I have no idea where he gets them. I thought you might be able to help me out with that."

He pulled an arrow out of a cylindric box and her eyes went wide. Archery may look ridiculous to her, but this thing in front of her was still a deadly weapon. Even without a bow, the arrowhead looked sharp enough to render flesh. You might easily stab someone to death with that arrow and here she'd always thought that sporting arrows had a rounded carbon tip. Strong enough to sink into a target and probably do some damage to the human body, but not made of pointed steel as if made to actually kill someone. Then again, Oliver had only said that his friend liked archery, he hadn't said if he limited himself to target practice. Maybe he went hunting. Oliver's rich friend could surely afford flying out of the city on a regular basis to go hunting poor, defenseless animals with sharp, pointy arrows that would go right through them. And please let that be all there was to it... Felicity shuddered to think about it all, but took the arrow and his unnecessary warning from him anyway. She took a closer look at the shaft, trying to avoid glancing at the lethal head and spotted a patent number.

"The shaft's composite is patented," she informed her guest as he took a seat. "And that patent is registered to a company called Sagittarius."

She couldn't help the smirk.

"That's Latin... for The Archer," she added, remembering his reaction to her Shakespeare reference.

"Really?", he deadpanned, replacing the arrow in its cylindric container. "Could you find out where and when this was purchased?"

She gave him a look. Hardly necessary information in order to buy some more for his friend. She had wanted to believe him. Truly. Now she wanted to roll her eyes, she really did. But she restrained herself and entered the serial number she had seen underneath the patent number earlier.

"According to Saggitarius company records that particular arrow is part of a bundle shipment. 200 units," she said a little incredulously. Sport? Right. She picked up a pen and wrote down the address for him, while she tried to remain calm as her thoughts spun. Oliver had been exonerated of being the vigilante by the Hood's appearance at an arms deal across town from the Queen Residence where he had been confined, but given what happened with the Exchange Building and now this strange request, she was wondering if the Hood's arrows were as green as his outfit. Then again, why come to her if he wanted to order them for himself. He may just as well walk into a police station. She narrowed her eyes when she thought of the timing of his request. Adam Hunt had just been killed. The police suspected the Hood, but if Oliver was somehow connected the vigilante after all and looking to find an arrow clearly not meant for simple sporting purposes, she wondered...

"Felicity, you're remarkable," he complimented her when she gave him the piece of paper.

"Thank you for remarking on it," she quipped back.

"And merry Christmas," he added as he made his way out.

"I'm Jewish," she remarked.

He stopped to look back at her.

"Happy Hanuka."

Something else to talk to Mr Steele about, perhaps...

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

Walter offered Doug a seat and a glass of water. When the other man politely declined, he placed the glass on the table in front of him anyway. He walked back around the table to sit down before speaking.

"After the recent attacks by the vigilante labeled the Hood, I had security run some diagnostics to determine if there were anyone within the company who might be targeted. The program red-flagged you."

"Me?", Doug asked with some surprise.

"Yes, if the program is to be believed, you might be one of the archers next targets. Now, I have upped security and we will do all we can to keep you safe, but I was wondering if you may have any notion as to why the vigilante might come after you."

Doug frowned at the question, taking a moment to muse it over. Of course he knew why the program had spit out his name. It had hardly evaded his notice that the people attacked by the vigilante matched the names on the list he had hidden away in a secret compartment at home. He couldn't tell Walter Steele that, though, so he would have to offer a convincing performance of innocence.

"No, I have no idea... I mean, I can't complain about my salary I guess, but I'm hardly in the league of Adam Hunt or Jason Brodeur and I'm certainly no criminal," he told his boss.

Walter nodded. Felicity had mailed him a copy earlier. It was a surprisingly random list. There were a lot of crime bosses on it, but also a number of known business men. People he had worked with even. And then there were names he didn't immediately recognized. Upon doing some research, he had realized that they worked for various companies and labs across the country, often scientists renowned in their fields. Most notably he had realized that some of them worked at Unidac Industries. He hadn't worked through the entire list yet, though.

A noise made him look up to find Felicity making her way to his office, then hovering a few meters from the door once she saw Doug Miller sitting across from him. The Head of Applied Sciences followed his gaze. Walter could see him begin to frown, so he quickly diverted his attention by motioning Felicity and the security agent waiting outside the door to come in.

"Ah, Ms Smoak, thank you for coming up again. This blasted computer keeps glitching."

As he made space for Felicity behind his desk to look at his fake computer problem, he turned back to Doug and continued their conversation as if there had been no interruption.

"I didn't think so, but if you can think of something, please notify me immediately. In the meantime, Mr Decker will go back to your office with you and accompany you home later tonight," he instructed, raising his hand when he saw the imminent protest. "I know it is an imposition, but your safety is paramount to Queen Consolidated and to me personally. I won't have you shot down by that lunatic, so please bear with me."

Once the two of them were out the door, he turned to Felicity who remained overtly engaged in supposedly fixing his computer.

"I hope this is important."

"Well, I guess that depends how you define important," she replied tersely. "See, most people would consider their step-son researching where to get 200 units of creepy black arrows important."

"Oliver asked you about arrows?"

"He even had one with him. And before you ask, no, it was definitely not made for the shooting range – or whatever it is you call places where you shoot arrows at round, multi-colored targets."

She glanced up at him briefly with a nervous smile. Walter wanted to sit down somewhere. Oliver's strange behavior was beginning to make sense in a way he really wished it didn't. He thought back to the days of his house arrest and how Oliver's lack of worry had startled them all. At the time, it had ended up giving them reassurance, but now he wondered about the motivation. Had he really not been worried because he had nothing to hide or because he had cleverly arranged to be in two places at once? With the potential for illicit activity in his family he wondered which one he should confront first, his wife or his stepson.

"So, important?", Felicity quipped, but at his blank look sobered up immediately. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking? Sir?"

"I honestly don't know anymore, Felicity," he admitted quietly.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Big Belly Burger)_

"So," Oliver started once their food had arrived, fixing Thea with what he hoped to be a stern big brother look. "-you avoided the question last time."

"Noticed that, did you?", Thea asked only half playfully. She knew where this was going and she didn't want to think about it.

"Thea, why aren't there any Christmas decorations up at home? Our family would always invite friends and celebrate, but there is no party planned this year, is there?"

Thea swallowed with difficulty. She would prefer not to think about it at all, but Oliver seemed determined to discuss this and she couldn't exactly just storm out of the diner. Before she could answer, a casual friend from her school strolled over to them and asked her to hang with him and his friends. She didn't need to see the incredulous look on Oliver's face to realize that he didn't appreciate the intrusion, nor was he particularly impressed with the young man in front of them. Thea smiled softly at his big brother antics. She had told him once that she didn't recognize him anymore and that he had no right to butt into her life, but she had to admit that she had missed out on the overprotective brother shenanigans. It warmed her a little that he thought her precious enough to disapprove of her friends.

"Sorry, Shane, but I'm having lunch with my brother."

Shane looked over as if noticing Oliver for the first time.

"You're that guy that was stuck on the island for five years, for real? Dude, I bet it was a lot more relaxing than here."

"You'd lose that bet," Oliver deadpanned.

"...Uh, yeah, well, maybe another time, Thea." She had to hand it to Shane; he knew when it was best to leave. Oliver looked after him, before turning to Thea and clearly wanting to ask about what just happened. Instead he just prompted her to answer his previous question. It wasn't as if he had had any good taste in women before Sara came along. He swallowed at the twinge he still felt thinking of her.

"So?"

"Alright... After you and dad were lost at sea, mom and I didn't really feel like celebrating when the holidays came around and... I guess... we just skipped them completely ever since. It's no big deal."

Oliver frowned. Of course it was. This was something he could do for his family, despite all the craziness in his life. So when he and Thea had made it home late that afternoon he gathered his family around him in the living room and suggested reinstating their Christmas Party tradition. Thea, Moira and Walter were not immediately convinced, but he wouldn't let go so easily.

"When I was on the island, it was all about surviving one day to the next, so I didn't keep track of the calendar or holidays or anything. But I never knew that you skipped them too. You wouldn't celebrate Christmas because it reminded you of dad and me being lost. I thought, now that I returned, I could be the reason we celebrate it again. Together."

He looked around at them.

"I know that I haven't been the son, the step-son, or the brother that all of you deserve, especially lately, but this feels like the right moment to start making up for lost time."

His mother was the first to respond to his hopeful look, stepping forward and hugging him to her as she agreed to the Christmas party. Next, Walter shook his hand.

"You're a good man, Oliver."

Then they all turned to Thea.

"Please, Speedy," he implored her quietly, moving over to hug her.

"...Fine," she managed, though it came out a little forced. Oliver beamed; he was sure he could bring her over to his side completely.

"Great! You won't have to worry about a thing! I'll do all the planning," he announced cheerfully.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

The look on Malcolm face told her they had a problem even as she approached him. Moira frowned, wondering if he had somehow found out about how her husband had sent Josiah Hudson to the warehouse where she'd had the Gambit stored away. The appearance of his surprisingly fit co-worker who most certainly did not work in Human Resources seemed to indicate so. She narrowed her eyes at the business man, displeased. She had already put up with more than enough interference into her family from him – first kidnapping, then trying to kill her son came to mind there. She was not about to let him lash out at Walter as well. So she stopped in front of their old family friend and looked at him expectantly. He cleared his throat shifting on his feet a bit as if embarrassed.

"Doug called me this afternoon. Apparently, Walter has called him into the office and asked him why the vigilante might target him," Malcolm began the conversation, exposing the core of the problem. "That, plus the abrupt departure of Mr Hudson make me wonder if we shouldn't take a harder look at your husband."

"Walter only talked to Doug out of concern. Security had flagged him for a potential attack-"

"Based on what?!", Malcolm interrupted. "The vigilante has been working his way through the list and suddenly your security flags the head of a science department that also happens to be on the list? Don't tell me it's a coincidence, Moira, cause I don't buy it. And neither should you. If Walter becomes a threat-"

"Then I will handle him," she told him firmly, glare fixated on him. "You have already overreached several times where my family is concerned... I doubt you're any less wrong this time."

Malcolm swayed backward on the balls of his feet, struck by her sudden fierceness. Not that he didn't know this side of her; she had shown it repeatedly during their combined endeavor to bring about the Undertaking. Still, he had rarely seen it directed at himself. Normally, she was one of his strongest allies, though he supposed he couldn't fault her for being protective of her family – particularly considering the attacks he had already launched on them on previous occasions. He took in her menacing glare and the rigid posture of her shoulders and decided that perhaps he could back down.

For now.

"I have been the good soldier, Malcolm. I have done everything I could to bring forward our Undertaking, but so help me, if one of my family so much as gets a paper cut from now on, I will burn your world to ashes," she threatened viciously. Her tone was quiet, her voice calm, but there was an edge to it that promised to tear apart his life and limbs if he pushed her too hard. He expected her to storm out after her heated declaration, but instead she held his gaze steadfast waiting for his acknowledgment. Malcolm took a quiet breath, then nodded to give his consent.

"I'll find out what, if anything, Walter knows and deal with it, without your help. And tell your attack dog not to show his face to my husband or anyone else in my family ever again." Moira turned around without waiting for a reply.

Malcolm took a step forward.

"Fine, but if it turns out you can't control your man, I won't send my attack dog. I'll go directly for our... associate," he added his own threat quietly, observing with some satisfaction that Moira's back went rigid shortly before her hands started shaking and she balled them into fists to suppress it.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

That night, three vigilantes are standing over a dark alleyway, brightened considerably by the flashing blue and red lights of various police cars and further illuminated by the crime scene lighting CSI brought with them. They watched the comings and goings of several officers as well as crime lab assistants in blue hazmat suits, gathering reports, transporting evidence and combining information from a number of statements by nearby residents. An immediate tension coils like an invisible spring in all of them when one scientist brings out a long black arrow to present to Detective Lance and Commission Nudocerto. The two exchange a glance and wave the CSI guy off. They could see Lance running a hand over his face, before pointing out that this was the second homicide in as many nights by their unknown archer.

"Not unknown," Nudocerto reminded him of their deal. "As far as the public is concerned, this is the Hood's doing."

"Yes, but it isn't, is it?", Lance retorted. "This is some sick copy cat who's using the vigilante's activities as a steppingstone or something."

"Don't tell me you are worried about tarnishing the Hood's reputation. The man is a cold-blooded killer!"

"But not Hunt's or Ravich's. And I could care less about his reputation, but I do care about the truth. The sooner we get this guy, the sooner we can set the record straight."

There was only silence from the commissioner.

"You are not planning to, are you?", Lance suddenly asked, hesitantly. "You just want to go on with this ruse that it's the Hood to- what?! Save face! The police doesn't exist to save itself from scandal, but to protect the public. How can we do that when we-"

Nudocerto raised his hand angrily.

"Spare me the ethics lesson, Quentin. Just catch one of these bastards – I don't care which!"

With that, the commissioner turned around and left the crime scene. Lance simply stared after him incredulously for a few seconds, before his partner called his attention into the house. The three vigilantes watching from the roof exchanged uncomfortable looks at the turn of events. It seemed the police were investigating in the right direction after all, but clearly they had a communications problem with the public. The Hood's expression could barely be seen under his nominative garment, but his mouth was set in a distinct frown.

"We could always leak footage of the other archer once we've got him," Helena suggested empathetically. "That lawyer friend of yours-"

"She's not a friend," the Hood replied lowly. He wasn't sure if he should regret bringing Helena out here. He himself had pointed out that she still needed training, but she was going stir crazy with nothing to do and Canary's open doubt and disapproval had goaded him. "But her cooperation has come in handy before."

"We have to catch him first, though," Huntress pointed out.

"Not we, Huntress, that's not why you're here tonight."

The woman looked over at her partner and he could feel Canary's surprised gaze on him as well. He backed away from the edge of the roof, seeking refuge in the darkness where the police's lighting couldn't reach them. The two women joined him with equally expectant expressions. Helena had her hands on her hips, clearly ready for an argument, and she kept glaring at Canary. Obviously she was convinced this was the other woman's fault, but Canary looked understandably puzzled given that she had nothing to do with any of this. No doubt she would be on the barricades as well when she heard his plan.

"I told you the other night that you still needed training and I meant it. This opponent, whoever he is, is no rookie and putting you in his path would be like leading a lamb to slaughter." He heard Huntress' angry gasp and could see Black Canary shaking her head as if to warn him off this path, but Oliver wasn't used to mincing his words, so he let the statement stand.

"Canary and I will have to focus all of our energy into stopping this... other archer before he kills again, which will leave the city unprotected."

Now he had Black Canary's attention. He could see her posture stiffen as she slowly realized where he was going with this. She shook her head even more emphatically in response.

"You're not serious," she hissed. It was the first thing she had said to them all night.

"Someone needs to patrol the streets and you wanted in one this – Huntress is the logical choice. The only choice, actually."

"And if she goes rogue?!"

"Excuse me, right here."

"Hush, child, and let the grown ups talk," Canary reprimanded her with clear condescension. Huntress marched over to her to pull her up to her face by her jacket and Oliver wanted to groan. Helena hissed at the other woman, threatening her to no effect. Canary was neither intimidated nor impressed with Huntress' antics. She just turned to him. "Like this." He didn't need the reference to Helena's wicked temper.

"Huntress, let her go."

"She-"

"I said let her go!" His tone brooked no arguments now and to everyone's surprise she did just that. Canary straightened herself out and brushed down her clothes as if to remove invisible specks of dirt. She did not address the issue at all, but he could see on her face just before Helena let go that she had been about to do some prime damage to their newbie. Oliver sighed internally; he doubted these two women would ever be friends even if Helena somehow managed to prove herself to Black Canary. He turned to the latter woman to address her concerns again. "It's the only way, unless you want to sit this one out after all. I can handle this on my own."

"And what, break in your trainee?"

Huntress simply glared. This time he joined her.

"What? Do you prefer apprentice?"

"You disapprove; I get it. Enough now."

"Quite. Let's go," Canary replied without missing a beat.

He stared at her in surprise.

"Didn't think you'd get rid of me that easily, did you?"

He didn't comment, but motioned for Huntress to come closer. He placed an ear piece into her hand. It would connect her to Diggle for the remainder of the night; a voice distorter protecting his identity the same way it did for him. Canary cocked her head to the side suspiciously, but said nothing as Huntress left to start her patrol, albeit reluctantly.

"So we can supervise her, mom," he teased. Let Canary think that the ear piece was connected directly to him. Diggle would inform him of any incidents as he monitored her, while their channel would otherwise remain mute. She handed him two of her high tech earplugs and he felt a sense of relief at not being the only one to expect trouble that night. Then he handed Black Canary the address Felicity had provided for him and watched her narrow her eyes.

"Why does every shady deal in this city happen at the port..."

He didn't bother answering beyond a chuckle.

The warehouse appeared quiet from the outside, something that immediately made both vigilantes suspicious. They forced their way inside – weapons in hand – to discover a single black arrow rammed into a desk top at the far end of the room. The two exchange a suspicious glance. Oliver's hand pulled the bow string a little further toward him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Canary pocket one baton in order to pull out a sonic bomb. This one was smaller than the last he'd seen and she pressed the black button at the top. Since she kept the button pressed as they approached he figured that it had a similar trigger as a land mine. Once they were half-way to the arrow on the table, two things happened at once. The doors behind them slammed shut and a bomb lit up like a Christmas tree with a flashy and unfortunately short countdown.

Oliver dropped the regular arrow he held and made to grab an exploding one to blast the door, but Black Canary had already turned around and thrown her sonic bomb at it. She crouched slightly but ran for the door anyway and he mimicked her, while the sonic device sent out a blast wave in a circular radius above them. The doors were knocked clear of their hinges and thrown outward, scraping across the street. The two vigilantes couldn't hear the other bomb explode because the earplugs were still filtering out the noise, but they felt the heat on their backs as they rolled around the entrance and threw themselves to the ground to evade the fire. Going down, Oliver could see fine cracks spreading through the building's walls, but it was still far from the destruction Canary's sonic bomb had caused to Deadshot's hotel suite. He kept himself curled over her smaller frame until the earplugs let in sound again, trusting that the energy from the blast had also dissipated. He rolled off of her, but they remained on the ground looking back at the flames that had dispersed to various parts of the structure and the street.

"We must be onto something, then," Canary chirped.

"You're one of those the-glass-is-half-full people, aren't you?"

Despite his wise-cracking and despite the near-death experience they'd just had or maybe because of it, they shared a laugh. When they'd calmed down, she gave him a wicked grin and raised herself in one fluid motion. He scoffed at her antics, but took her proffered hand and let her pull him up anyway. The ease with which she did so was almost eerie. Her petite form hid her deceptive strength well. Something else to file away for later analysis as he tried to figure out her mystery. As she continued to survey the chaos, carefully wading through burning debris and trying to find something useful, he watched her attentively, but wistfully. He was beginning to wonder if he should bother researching her at all. Perhaps it would be better to leave her an enigma. For the day he retired from this crusade. Or died on it.

Or the day he would scare himself.

"We have a problem," came a distorted voice through their earplugs. Oliver started at the sudden sound; he hadn't expected them to work as commlinks as well. He looked at Black Canary, who was trying very hard to smother her smirk into something less insulting, and grumbled.

"What problem?", he asked, earning himself a glare from the blonde.

"We meet at last," the voice bit out sarcastically. "I actually could have waited longer – like, indefinitely – for this dubious honor."

"Not now, Wildcat. What problem?", Canary interjected before a fight could break out. She sent him a look that was part apology and part admonishment, but Oliver was too busy grinning and mouthing 'Wildcat' at her to be intimidated. She rolled her eyes at him deliberately slowly.

"Right; the situation with the copy cat has escalated quickly after the police issued a statement blaming the Hood for the murder of Ravich not fifteen minutes ago."

"He must have prepared ahead of time."

"If by that you mean he took a bunch of people hostage in an old, run-down warehouse and booby-trapped every entrance to keep out the police, then yes, he did." Oliver gritted his teeth. Despite his first impression, he shared the concern that was evident in Wildcat's voice.

"What does he want?", he asked gruffly.

"You."

He and Black Canary shared a look.

"He says he'll kill a hostage for every hour that the Hood is not in his custody," Wildcat elaborated. There was an undertone there that both Black Canary and the Hood would definitely ignore. They all knew that the easiest way to put a stop to this was to hand the Hood over, but the truth was that there was no guarantee the other archer would hold up his end of the bargain. Canary cast a glance at her partner when a sudden noise made him pull out one ear piece to plug in his own. It might be Helena; it might not. She could consider later how this may confirm her and Ted's theory that he wasn't working alone and how- she stopped herself there, knowing she could not afford the distraction. Instead she waited while her reluctant partner listened to whatever he was being told on the other comm, while they made their way back to their bikes and started heading toward the scene of the hostage taking.

"Something about Huntress?", she asked when he pulled the ear piece out again to replace it with hers.

"No, just about the hostage situation. The man is a bit shorter than me, broad-shouldered and fit. He wears black armor; leather and cloth apparently. Metal reflecting the light suggests he may be wearing a coat of mail or something underneath."

"Won't that slow him down?"

"Not much if he's well trained; besides, archery is about precision from a distance. If he's good, you're dead before you know he's there."

"Well, then, we'll just have to be better."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, she's always like that," Wildcat sighed through the comms as if he had seen him. "How will you get in if he booby-trapped every entrance."

"Not every entrance," the Hood grumbled as they stopped not far from the police perimeter and looked up. They climbed the external fire staircase to the roof of an office building. It stood notably higher than the warehouse offering them a good view of the building in which the other archer was hiding. The police had the it surrounded, but were hovering at the edge of events. They spotted a small robotic vehicle approaching the front door, possibly testing for mines while on route to give them a good look at the explosives attached to the door. There was a dark, burnt patch not far from the entrance accompanied by a splatter of a reddish color Canary would rather not analyze to closely. They'd passed a speeding, wailing ambulance on their way here.

"So, not every entrance?", she asked him to clarify quietly. "You think the roof is free. Why?"

"He wants me to get in."

"Why?"

"Because he wants what all archers want."

This was like pulling teeth. "And what's that?"

"Find out who's better."

"Right, and here I thought he just wanted you dead," she deadpanned, unimpressed by his glare.

He shot a cable to the roof of the other building and waited a beat. When nothing exploded, he turned back to Black Canary with one arm extended in invitation and question. He wasn't sure whether he would prefer her to stay here and away from the dangerous lunatic they knew nothing about or if he would rather have her as back up. But he knew it wasn't up to him, so when she stepped fluidly into his embrace, he secured her against his side without question. He had to fight the impulse to look down, look into her eyes to witness the strength of her determination and let it feed into his own. Instead he pushed them both of the roof and allowed gravity to pull them over to the other roof. They landed with a roll across the surface to lessen the impact, waiting another beat for something else to blow up in their faces that night. When nothing happened, Oliver made his way over to the door on the roof, but Canary motioned him to a skylight. He stepped over and looked down upon the room with all the hostages sitting, tied to chairs, in a circle. Creeping around the skylight to get a better look at the rest of the room, they narrowed their eyes as they found no trace of the other archer. Despite this neither hesitated to jump onto the decrepit glass window. It shattered easily under their combined weight, dropping them into the center of the hostage circle. Frightened shrieks were the first thing that greeted them, but once the men and women realized they were here to free them, they calmed down quickly.

"It's okay, it's okay. You're gonna be fine," Canary murmured at them as she cut the ropes while he stood watch with an arrow at the ready to cover them. Once they were up, Wildcat fed them the information to get to the staircase that accessed the roof and Oliver knew he would not take the ear plugs back to his hideout to analyze as they also seemed to serve as a locater. Damn, he'd like to meet whoever invented them. Canary, batons in hand, took the lead, with him bringing up the rear and the frightened civilians hurrying along between them. Up the stairs, Canary opened the door when Wildcat gave her the all clear from the news helicopter footage. The archer wasn't there. She stepped out and to the side to let the hostages out onto the roof as the chopper approached. Meanwhile, Oliver was walking backward up the stairs to cover their retreat when he saw a shadowed figure pass along the bottom of the stairs. Chancing a glance behind him, he noticed that Canary had left her position pressed against the wall to keep the group together and calm. The door was unmanned. He closed his eyes briefly in guilt, then grabbed the door and pulled it quietly shut while her back was turned and after first breaking of the handle so she couldn't follow. He trusted that she could deal with the police while he dealt with the archer.

" _She's going to kill you for this,"_ Wildcat's voice told him. Oliver didn't doubt it.

"I don't hear you protesting or alerting her to my absence."

No answer. No Canary cursing in his ear, either. The best he could have hoped for, the Hood guessed. It seemed he and Wildcat had another thing in common then.

He quickly moved back down the stairs, arrow cocked and bow drawn. As he rounded into the hallway he half-expected to be shot that very second, but all remained quiet. A glance back, then he advanced through the corridor until he found himself in large hall. Debris and leftover items from when the warehouse was in use littered the ground. The light sources the police had established outside barely provided any illumination. The light couldn't penetrate the thick layer of dust and dirt on the windows properly. A sudden, quiet noise made him whisk around to see the other archer had appeared in the hallway he had just left. Oliver studied him for a moment; his bow was not ready, but he carried a sword on his back along with his quiver. The dark hood was accompanied by a piece of cloth covering most of his face. It was impossible to identify anything more about him.

"Thank you for coming," a distorted voice said. "I knew you couldn't resist playing the hero."

"I am no hero."

His dark chuckle proved to be the last string. Oliver let go of the string to fire, but the Dark Archer evaded his attack by leaning to the side. As he straightened himself, he cocked his own arrow and shot it at the Hood. When Oliver leaned back to duck under it, it shattered a window behind him instead. They traded a few more arrows, but with their expertise they both dodged them with ease. Oliver made to take cover by jumping across a dusty table and overturning it, just in time for another arrow to embed itself in its surface. He heard the archer approaching at a quick pace, so Oliver rolled onto his back and kicked the table at him with full force. The Dark Archer stumbled over it, but caught himself at the last minute with an efficient roll. Oliver had aimed an arrow to catch him on the fall, but his sitting position wasn't idea for aiming, so all he caught was a piece of the leather. The arrow broke on the archer's roll. He pulled out the broken off arrowhead once he stood again and studied it for a second. Oliver made use of the time to pick out three small pellets from his pouch and throw them between the two as he got up.

They instantly released a thick smoke to hide his movements, at least for a moment, so Oliver sought higher ground quietly. He fitted himself between the supporting beams under the ceiling, bow ready to fire as soon as vision returned. The smoke cleared slowly, so he could only see the archer as a large dark, shifting mass moving around the room to follow him. He followed the vague figure with his bow. As the smoke cleared, the Dark Archer had lowered his weapon, not knowing where he was. Oliver sensed this was his chance and fired. The other archer turned suddenly, deviating the arrow with his bow. Instead of embedding itself into his arm or side, it scraped across his back. The Dark Archer barely gave a grunt of discomfort but Oliver was sure to have hit him. His sense of victory was short-lived, though, as the other man fired right away and knocked his bow out of his hand. Oliver didn't hesitate; he got up and ran through the support structure. It provided him a bit of cover while the Dark Archer continued firing at him arrow after arrow in quick succession.

Part of Oliver's mind managed to be impressed at both his opponent's speed and precision, even as he jumped across to a hanging lamp to get onto another piece of supporting structure and was hit by an arrow in the leg. An involuntary groan of pain tore itself from his throat. The shock made him lose his grip an fall to the floor. He caught himself on all fours and sprinted to jump over a work station for cover. Picking up one of the disregarded tools on his way over the top, he threw it in the archer's direction. Not expecting the unusual projectile, it hit Oliver's attacker in the hip, even though Oliver had technically aimed for the shoulder. It was enough to startle the other archer though, making him loose his aim and shoot an arrow at the ground. Oliver quickly scrounged together more small metal objects from the work station and other debris from the floor and through it in a rapid fire strategy at the archer to keep him occupied.

The distraction allowed Oliver to cross the room toward where he'd dropped his bow. He spotted it on the ground, picked it up in a roll and cocked an arrow as he straightened his body back into a standing position. Due to his hasty roll over his right shoulder, he got up with his back to the archer. That was his mistake, because even as he let go an arrow embedded itself in his shoulder, then shortly after another hit his side. The shock of the sudden impact knocked the breath right out of him. Oliver gasped for air as he was propelled forward. He was close to the wall and managed to stumble toward to support himself. He felt how the arrowhead cut more into his flesh with every movement, felt the burn of his pain and the pounding of his blood. He saw spots from the shock and he could feel his injured leg giving out on him. Before he could slump down the wall, two strong hands gripped his shoulders one too gently and threw him sideways to the ground.

His focus returning, Oliver tried to get up, to crawl away, in search of something so use as a weapon. When he was on his knees, those same hands picked him up once more – as if it were nothing – straightened him out, only to kick him in the back and sent him crashing through a rotting wooden structure. Oliver couldn't control the groans of pain that left him. He could vaguely hear Wildcat's frantic voice trying to.. help him? Advise him? Encourage him? He had no idea, because he could not make out anything; the other man's words were a jumbled, indistinct mess ringing in his ears. Instead his hearing distinctly picked up the scraping sound of another arrow being pulled the quiver, then the unique, indescribable noise of the string being pulled taught. Then the silence nearly deafened him as he waited for the final blow.

"You have failed this city," the Dark Archer said tonelessly.

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 _(Meanwhile, on the roof)_

Black Canary was pulled along by one of the hostages, away from the wall and the door and onto the open roof. She cast a glance at the sky, two choppers circling above the building. One belonged to the news station; their live feed had allowed Ted to tell them the roof was clear. The other was a police chopper and it was slowly pulling downward to secure the hostages. She would rather not be here when that happened as she had little doubt there were a few police officers in there who wouldn't mind putting handcuffs on her – and not in a fun way! Still, the five men and women were clearly scared out of their minds, so Canary accompanied them further onto the roof – if only to herd them to a side so as to let the chopper land.

"See, the cavalry is coming," she announced to the group as they watched the police helicopter descend. She turned back to them with a reassuring smile. "You'll be okay now."

"Can you come with us?"

She cringed slightly.

"Not the best idea for me, I'm afraid, but you'll be in the best hands with the police. You're safe now. You don't need me anymore and I have to go help my... friend. My very impatient-"

She stopped herself when she spotted the closed access door. Her mind instantly came up with what demented plan he must have come up with. She noticed the woman she was talking to following her gaze.

"That bastard," she'd muttered darkly before she could stop herself.

The ginger woman smiled.

"He just wants you safe. He must care for you a lot," she suggested almost hopefully and Black Canary was reminded of the recent newspaper article and what that meant this woman was thinking about their unusual partnership. She opened her mouth to correct her, but ultimately decided to leave it be. Given how irritated he had first been when he'd seen the article, it would serve him right if this woman added fuel to the fire of the rumor mill about them.

"I gotta go," she told her, but the ginger held onto her steadfastly as she moved away, so Canary turned back to her.

"Thank you. We never said... thank you. And tell your friend that everyone is wrong about him; we know that now. He's a good man. He's..."

Canary's gaze softened.

"Tell him yourself... and maybe the rest of the city too," she suggested instead. This time when she moved to leave, the other woman let her go without protest. Despite the missing handle, she tried the door first, but when it didn't budge, she kicked it open unceremoniously. If he thought a tampered door would stop her, he had another thing coming. On her way down the stairs she didn't fail to reprimand Ted for not telling her the Hood was going solo, but her partner was rather unapologetic.

" _The man seems to have a vested interest in keeping you out of danger. I'm not arguing with that."_

She didn't bother pointing out that her vigilante activities were dangerous in general.

"Don't tell me you suddenly like the guy."

" _Aspects of him are growing on me... Take a left at the bottom."_

"How's it going?", she whispered as she followed his directions.

" _Hard to tell, but-"_ They both heard the groan through the now open commlink. _"Shit, I think he's hit. Hurry."_

Black Canary didn't need to be told twice. She stopped bantering with her partner and just followed his instructions on how to find her way to the Hood. When she entered the larger hall, her gut clenched. The Dark Archer was just kicking the Hood through a wooden wall. She saw at least two arrows protruding from her partner's back. She used the chaos and the noise to sneak up on their opponent, blocking the images of the Hood going down, his groans of pain and the quiet, still way in which he seemed to wait for death. Ted had gone quiet on her end of the comm, so as not to give her away. She watched passively, analytically as the Dark Archer drew one final arrow and cocked it onto the string to kill his opponent.

"You have failed this city."

One baton slipped between the bow and its string, skewing his aim sideways even as the other came down hard on his shoulder. She could have gone for his head, but she wanted to put herself between him and the Hood immediately, so instead she grabbed onto his uniform around the baton. Tapping into the anger and fear coiling in her belly to amplify her strength, her foot bent his knee as she pulled him around her, tossing him several meters across the room. She wanted to go check on her partner, desperately, but she dared not let the other archer out of her sight even for an instant. In the twist, his bow had remained dangling from her baton and she held it up mockingly for a moment as he got up. Then she threw it clear across her shoulder when he pulled out his sword. Without hesitation she walked into his rushed attack. When the sword came down on her, it met onto the metal of her baton. She guided it away from her body and struck forward, hitting him directly in the chest. She ducked under his sideways swing.

When he tried again, she brought her weapon up to block close to her face, then, before he could react, she stepped forward to guide her other baton around to the other side of his sword. Close to his wrist she gave one strong pull, while she pushed at the tip. The weakest point of his grip on the handle – between the thumb and fingers – gave way, ripping the sword from his hand and letting it fall to the ground. She made a move to kick him away from it, but he twisted away this time and his round house kick caught her in the face. She fell backward, using a roll to get back onto her feet. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him dive for his sword and backed up while her head still rang. When she saw him approach, she quickly dropped one baton to the ground. The unexpected move made him hesitate, long enough for her to pull a second sonic bomb from her pouch. He didn't try to approach again, so he clearly knew what it was.

"At this distance, your brains would be so scrambled, I'd be able to serve them up with bacon," she threatened (1). For a long moment nothing happened. Neither of them moved, neither of them gave in. Then a small whimper of pain as the Hood tried to pull himself up again distracted her for a split-second. When she looked back, the Dark Archer had disappeared. She took one more glance around to be sure, then pocketed her bomb and her batons and rushed to help the Hood. They could hear controlled explosions coming from the front door and boots coming from the stairs. Canary looked skyward in exasperation, but there was nothing for it. They needed to jump out a window, so that's what she helped him do. He landed on a dumpster and the arrows broke off, which just made everything worse, but at least he'd made it through the fall. She landed beside it and placed his arm over her shoulder to help him up. They made their way to the entrance of the alley at a crawling pace, but thankfully the police were busy erupting into the place, so she didn't expect much trouble. That was until hey rounded the corner of the alley and walked straight into a uniformed perimeter guard.

The officer, not surprisingly, pulled his gun.

"Please, he's injured. He needs help."

"We'll take him to a hospital. He's wanted... for several murders across the city," the policemen replied. He didn't sound fully convinced.

"He just helped save five people. Cut him some slack," Canary pleaded.

"I cou- I couldn't do that. You- you can go. You're a hero. I'm sorry I shot at you."

Oliver's eyes narrowed. He suddenly remembered the overeager young officer from the bank robbery. His heart had missed a few beats thinking she might get shot. Seemed like someone had had a talk with him since then, set him straight. Oliver didn't believe in heroes, but of the two oft them, she was certainly the closest. Glad he learned.

"But I can't let him... I can't. One good deed doesn't make a hero."

Oliver grunted in unexpected amusement. He'd never set out to be a hero. He just wanted to right his father's wrongs and avenge those who had suffered unjustly. He felt Canary's hand curl into a fist and dig into his side when the officer looked at him strangely.

"He's right," he clarified. "You're right, I'm not a hero, I-"

Whatever else he had wanted to say got lost in a coughing fit. Canary refocused her efforts.

"He could die. I can help him, but you have to let us through."

"I- I..." A sigh, lips pressed together, then a quiet nod and he lowered his gun, almost as if in defeat. "But... you have to make it look real."

"Won't be an issue," Canary assured him as she watched John Diggle smash the butt of a gun into the police officer's head.

"Car's around the corner; I'll take him to the hospital."

"Thanks, Dig," he muttered. He could worry about the consequences later.

She scoffed, making both men look at her.

"You're kidding, right? How stupid do you think the doctors here are that you don't think they'll recognize the difference between... arrow holes and whatever cover story you are thinking about feeding them. Help me get him to the car; I'll give you directions."

She didn't wait for a response, but Diggle followed her lead anyway and Oliver was in no position to protest. Within ten minutes they were in a quieter, residential part of town. The brick walls everywhere also suggested it was a rather old part of town. Several of the street lamps didn't work, not that either of them were surprised given Starling City's general state. Underneath one such not-working street lamp, Canary led them to a secluded black metal door. The key hole had been replaced by a key pad not unlike the one he had installed in the club. Black Canary seemed unconcerned with the fact that he and Diggle could clearly see her punch in the code. Once they'd stepped through the door, they were immersed in total darkness for a few long heartbeats, before the fluorescent lights turned on as if by themselves. Even in his barely conscious state, Oliver could tell this was a beta site or something along those lines. For starters, there was no trace of Wildcat, but more importantly, the haphazardly arranged bare metal shelves seemed to stack mostly essentials. There were a few weapons and sonic bombs, but also provisions, general tools and – Oliver thanked whoever was listening upstairs – medical supplies. Canary left Diggle to hold onto him while she gathered the supplies they needed. Then she moved to unzip his jacket. Both Oliver and Diggle raised a hand to stop her, but she batted them away.

"The jacket needs to come off if you plan to live through this, Mr Queen," she told him matter-of-factly.

They both just stared at her.

"Mr Diggle is a bit of a dead give away, don't you think?", she asked in a deadpan as she pulled down the zipper and helped him shrug off his jacket. He could hear her steadying intake of breath when all his scars were revealed. Her gloved hand tentatively reached out to one, the one by his star tattoo, but she caught herself and moved to help Diggle stretch him out on the metal table instead.

"You have to cut out the arrowheads and suture the wounds," Oliver grunted.

"I figured."

"Have you done this before?", Diggle asked, concerned.

"Not with arrows," she admitted under his worried glance. Of course, bullets were much more common these days.

"But on a live subject?", the bodyguard inquired further, thinking back to Oliver's pet theory about her being a cop or a CSI officer. Maybe a coroner...

She frowned.

"No, on a mannequin," she replied with some aggravation, before answering the question. "Several live subjects, who are very much still alive in case you were worried. Including myself if that makes you feel any better."

"Could you not talk about me as if I weren't here," Oliver protested weakly.

She removed her leather gloves and put on sterile latex ones.

"Right. Local or full anesthesia?"

"Just cut them out," he grunted out. Obviously.

"Am I not enunciating today?! Local or full?", she repeated, pronouncing each word carefully. "Cause I'm not cutting into you if you can feel it and jerk around and possibly make it worse!"

Oliver was about to protest, but she shot him down again.

"Now stop playing tough guy and take your meds, princess."

Diggle chuckled and Oliver glared at him.

"Local," he finally bit out.

After that, the room was silent, but Oliver had turned his head back around to her and watched her while she worked on him. She seemed surprisingly calm about the revelation; had she suspected him all along? Diggle's stunt as the Hood was supposed to take care of any suspicions, but maybe she had caught a glimpse of him. His partner had said that she hadn't showed up at the arms deal, but Oliver knew without a doubt that she would be good at hiding in the shadows if she wanted to. He narrowed his eyes, wondering what she would do once she had treated him. Her calm now didn't need to be indicative of her overall position on the issue. She had made it abundantly clear that she didn't approve of his methods.

Oliver chuckled.

It made her look at him for a moment as it rocked his back. He gave her a vaguely apologetic smile, but he hadn't been able to help himself. Here he was, thinking of her explicit disapproval, even though he had basically stopped killing after they had first struck their agreement, with the notable exception of Deadshot. It was funny that it only dawned on him now that she had gotten what she'd wanted. He wondered if she thought of that sometimes and if she would take it into consideration in deciding what to do with his secret identity. She hadn't turned him over to the cop, who could have gotten him to a hospital. He took that as a good sign, but she hadn't looked him in the eyes since. Not an unusual occurrence normally, when both his mask and his hood hid who he was, but now that he was exposed it seemed odd for her to shrink away from facing him.

"How did it go with Helena?", she asked, interrupting the silence. Perhaps his constant scrutiny weighed to heavy on her.

"G-good," Diggle started; he hadn't expected her to address him. "She was tempted to come join you two a few times, but I managed to... uh... persuade her otherwise."

"You told her I would kick her ass, I hope," Canary smirked.

"Ah... actually, I mentioned how pissed this one -" he pointed at Oliver - "would be if she interrupted your date." Oliver scowled at his teasing tone of satisfaction, but fought the urge to turn his head at Diggle so as not to jostle his back again. Instead his eyes focused on her again a moment later. His frown faded, making way to a puzzled expression. He had expected her to be as indignant as him, but Black Canary remained uncharacteristically quiet. She just ducked her head and refocused herself on her work, grunting noncommittally. Oliver didn't know what to make of that reaction. They worked together reasonably well, even though they barely tolerated each other lately, so it wasn't like there was any reason for her to be... what was it?... embarrassed... flustered... He couldn't place it, nor could he place the knot that was beginning to form in his own gut; it's tension felt out of place, but not wholly unpleasant.

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 _(Queen Residence)_

He was still thinking about it by the time he had long since returned to his family and the Christmas party was in full swing. As soon as he was patched up and bandaged – and warned adequately to take it easy for a few days by his impromptu nurse – Diggle took him home. When Oliver protested that they needed to stop by the hideout, his partner reminded him that he had a party to attend. Oliver had blanched as he had completely forgotten that the day was today. So they smuggled him in through the garage; thankfully everyone had been too busy with the party arrangements to notice them and his vigilante uniform would be safe enough in a piece of luggage in his closet for one night. Meanwhile, his whole body had protested the change of clothes into a suit, but he couldn't very well not attend after he'd harassed his family into this gig in the first place. So he'd put on a smile and gone down to face the crowd.

Guests were arriving by the minute when he descended, but it was just his luck that the elegantly dressed woman intercepting him in the atrium was none other than Helena Bertinelli. He felt his breath catch for a moment nonetheless as he surveyed her supple movements in the royal blue knee-length dress clinging to her toned figure. She was the epitome of strength and lissomness. Her soft, careful movements and gestures betrayed her underlying dangerous potential to his trained eye. She had chosen her name well; she truly was a huntress. Her long dark hair framed the soft features of her face as it broke out into a subtle, but predatory smile when she saw him. He smiled back at her with slight inquisitiveness, offering her an arm when she caught up with him to escort her into the ball room.

"How are you feeling?", she asked. The question seemed an odd introduction to a conversation, but he didn't miss a beat.

"Safer now that you're here," he deflected with a charming grin. She laughed, a bright and honest laugh from the sound of it. Her other hand came up to pet his arm warmly.

"I meant, have you acclimatized any better? You said you had some trouble being yourself with the people you love when we first met," she clarified. "And now you're throwing them a Christmas party – don't think we didn't all hear that it was your idea."

Her smile changed from teasing to soft, perhaps concerned.

"I guess I'm wondering if you're doing this for all of you or just for them. To offer an image of normalcy, you know," she questioned softly and Oliver felt warmed by her concern. These were the moments for which he wanted to take her under his wing and help her. She wanted revenge for her fiancé's murder and in that she was cold and wrathful, but Helena was also capable of true warmth. She had shown that during their dinner. He'd never felt to attuned with another living soul since he'd returned from the island. They had both been lost, been through so much, it drew him to her. Drew them together. Helena wasn't a lost cause like Diggle and Canary feared. She was damaged, sure, but so was he and as someone had pointed out to him recently, that was just an opportunity to come back stronger than before.

"There was no Christmas on the island," he began to explain after a moment. "One day bled into another. I was too busy trying to survive to keep track of the holidays... or any days or months..."

"Or years," Helena finished.

He inclined his head in acknowledgement.

"Being here again, reminded me... My father used to put up Christmas trees in every room of the manor during the holidays. Thea and I would spend practically a month decorating a tree a day with our parents leading up to this party." He looked around at the guests socializing in little groups, chatting, waiting for the music to start. "Then I found out that my family didn't have Christmas either after my father and I were gone. I... I thought we all deserved a break."

Helena looked around the room with him.

"A fresh start?"

"Yes, if you like."

"Well, then, I think yours is approaching from six o'clock. I hope you have mistletoe hiding around here somewhere," she pointed out teasingly, making a move to leave him. Oliver cast a glance at Laurel approaching them from the side. His heart fluttered briefly in his chest – from panic, he told himself – before he drowned the feeling in a gulp from his champagne flute. He didn't let Helena go immediately, instead he mumbled an apology to her as he kissed her forehead. She looked between him and Laurel oddly, but thankfully didn't question him as she went over to greet his mother and step-father standing a little to the side when he finally relinquished her. He let Laurel hover at the edge of his vision a little longer, while he engrossed himself in watching Helena leaving. Eventually, he slowly turned around to face his new friend. She had stopped a few meters away at his little display with Helena, respectfully keeping her distance. Or perhaps shocked. Oliver couldn't tell because her face gave nothing away. He cocked his head to the side at the odd tension he saw in her posture. Turning his body fully toward her in a hopefully inviting gesture, he waited for her to approach him.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

Moira had been surveying the ball room with no small amount of satisfaction. It really seemed like her son had put a lot into the evening, trying to recreate their family holidays from before... Her heart did constrict a little at the thought of Robert, the time he was still alive and the fact that he was missing now, but she was determined not to let losses of the past ruin her evening or her son's efforts. He caught her eyes entering with a beautiful young lady on his arm, apparently engrossed in their conversation. She recognized Oliver's friend, from the night Malcolm's henchman had tried to kill her son, but she couldn't recall her name or if it had even been mentioned. Other things had occupied her mind then. Now they seemed to be encapsulated in their own little world. Moira smiled softly; perhaps her son was finally returning from that island he had build himself. She pointed vaguely in their direction when Walter came over to join her, but he barely paid them any attention except for a cautious smile. Instead he took her hand and led her off to the side.

Moira took a deep breath; something had clearly agitated her husband and she could imagine very well what it had been. After her conversation with Malcolm she had checked to see if her little leather booklet was still where it was supposed to be. She couldn't claim to be completely surprised when she found the grandfather clock to be empty, not that she had told Malcolm that. No, she would not lose another husband to Malcolm's machinations and he was already suspicious enough as it was. She would handle it herself as she had promised him, but she hadn't expected that Walter would choose the moment to do so for her, nor that it would be so soon and at their Christmas party no less. She looked up into his stern face, no trace of humor or holiday spirit, and concluded that she would not be able to talk him out of having this conversation now as unsuitable as it was.

"We need to talk," he announced as if either of them needed to be told the obvious.

"Yes, I'm afraid we do," she replied gravely. "I know you found the book, Walter. I need you to return it."

"You don't deny that the list is yours, then?"

She sighed, torn on how much to tell him.

"It was Robert's originally, but now its responsibility has passed on to me, yes," she finally told him. Her heart thumped away in her chest; he had discovered the list inside. Had he also made the connection to the vigilante, she wondered. "But you can't get involved. You must return the book to me and promise me you won't dig into it anymore. Please."

"I know you salvaged the Gambit," he suddenly told her. Her impassive face told him that she already knew that too. There was neither shock nor surprise on her face, only resigned acceptance. "They're connected, aren't they? The list and the Gambit... You might as well tell me, Moira. Robert was one of my oldest friends and I have no intention of letting his murderers roam free."

She closed her eyes in desperation. She couldn't have him involved in this. It was difficult enough keeping all the lies and half-truths straight without Walter being thrown into the mess Robert had created for them. She looked up at her husband again. He looked determined, but she had to talk him out of it. She had to convince him to drop it before he or anyone else in their family got hurt. She cast a glance at Oliver, still talking with his dark-haired friend. Again, in his case. She had just gotten her son back – like a miracle – she would not lose anyone else.

"I had the yacht salvaged for leverage because it had been tampered with, you're right, but please, Walter – look at me," she implored when he turned away from her angrily. "You can't keep asking questions. The organization that... did this... the same one that made the list, they're too powerful. I already lost my husband and my son, once. I can't lose you too. You're putting yourself and Oliver and Thea into danger with these inquiries. Please, let it go. Please just let it go. For them. To keep them safe."

He looked at her with a mixture of anger, fear and defiance.

"I could help you fight them."

She shook her head.

"I am one of them, Walter," she admitted quietly. "When Robert died, he was so tangled up in this that... I had to become a part of it to protect Thea. And when you... when you came into my life... to stay-" Her voice threatened to break; out of the corner of her eye, she saw Oliver's lady friend break away from him to make her way over to them. "-when you loved me, I hoped... your love could save me, but please..."

She couldn't speak anymore. She was close to tears. Walter's arm came around her to pull her into him.

"Alright, but the time for lies has passed."

Moira nodded her head against his chest.

"Later," she promised quietly.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

Laurel hadn't been thinking straight when she decided to go to the party. She and Ted had both agreed that it would be a good idea to keep an eye on Oliver for the evening and she had even managed to convince him not to tell her father. She wasn't sure yet what exactly she was going to tell him instead, but at least for the time being they would see where this went. Now, however, faced with Oliver standing there in his tux and in clear discomfort if the tension of his jaw was anything to go by, she wasn't sure what to do. His affectionate exchange with Helena made her wonder if she knew he was the Hood, but Laurel told herself that was a question for another time. It didn't affect how she had to act around either of them, so she could ponder the ramifications of their... partnership later. Swallowing a little, she returned the smile to her face as she bridged the last few meters to stand beside him.

"Good evening, Laurel," Oliver whispered in a quiet, intimate tone. She saw him take her in, in her red cocktail dress. He took a little longer than was strictly polite to appreciate her appearance. When his eyes finally raised themselves back to her face, they shone with a strange intensity that had her duck her head. "So glad you could make it."

"Thank you for inviting me. I know things have been... awkward since... uh... I was happy to receive your invitation."

"I wouldn't have wanted you to miss this for the world," he blurted out before he could think about it. Oliver cursed himself under his breath. His mouth had a way of running away with him where Laurel was concerned.

"...Merry Christmas," she said after a brief pause, smiling shyly.

"Merry Christmas," he agreed, enveloping her in a short hug. She was acutely aware of the soft, warm pressure of his hand on the small of her back and even more so of its loss when they drew back. For her part, she carefully hugged his midriff to avoid hurting him by touching his wounds. She hoped he didn't realize it was deliberate, but Oliver seemed calm and happy if a little awkward.

"So, how long until this isn't awkward anymore?", she queried with a teasing smile. At least she hoped it was teasing.

"This isn't awkward," he protested, but even he couldn't suppress the disbelieving snort that quickly followed that statement. His ears perked up as the music opened and he knew he was about to do something incredibly stupid, given their predicament. "Would you like to dance?"

There it was again; his mouth running away with him. She looked a little uncertainly between him and the still empty dance floor. Then she looked passed him to the side and he followed her gaze to where Helena was chatting animatedly with his mother and Walter. The look in her eyes asked him if he wouldn't rather dance with her and Oliver knew he should take the offered way out, but instead he found himself gently grasping her hand and leading her to the middle of the room. A bit of a hush fell over the rest of the crowd then as all eyes focused on them. He watched the flush rise to Laurel's face at all the attention, but she obediently placed her free hand one his shoulder when he started swaying them to the soft tunes. He held on to her other hand a little tighter, placing it softly against his chest. His eyes never left her face and he was gratified to see that she didn't duck her head again to avoid his gaze. He wondered if he scared her - this known playboy she barely knew looking at her... however he was looking at her.

The flush remained firmly on her face, even as they vaguely noticed other couples joining them on the dance floor. His mother and Walter were dancing not far from them, but Oliver paid none of them any heed. He had felt drawn in by Helena's kindred soul and even now he felt more connected to the Huntress than to anyone else, but something about Laurel seemed to shift the center of gravity. Their story was so convoluted already. He had basked in her kindness when they first met, had been impressed with her tenacity in fighting Adam Hunt and had relied on her unerring sense of justice when he'd asked for her help in the Declan case. He'd also shared his scars with her, something he had done with no one else. He had almost jumped at Thea when she'd accidentally seen them after walking in on him changing, but he had willingly shown them to Laurel when she'd asked. And despite Sara and the pain and the guilt, he had breathed Laurel in, pulled together like magnets.

Laurel wondered what was going on in that head of his. His eyes were trained on her, focused by contemplative. He looked at her like a puzzle to be worked out, like he didn't know how to not be intrigued by her. He also looked at her like he liked the enigma even as he tried to solve it. The intensity of his gaze made her shiver in his arms. She felt his hold on her waist tighten reflexively. She took the moment to contemplate him in return, this mysterious man that had taken Starling City by surprise with both his identities. The prodigal son and the vigilante on a mission. When she had first seen him, he had been nothing like she imagined. Not suave or flirty despite his half-hearted attempt. He had been scared and scarred in more than just physical ways. He had been so cautious, the way he followed her to the court room as if sleeping dragons awaited him there. She had taken his hand, taking them both by surprise, and he had clung to it until the judge asked him to give his testimony. His grip had been warm, firm, reassuring in a way she had little doubt he hadn't felt.

He had relied on her then for more than just a legal formality and then again when he came to her apartment. A stranger to talk to, someone who didn't know him and wouldn't judge him. He hadn't known about Sara then, but she still felt glad that he had trusted her. She had felt guilty that she had put him in harms way with Hunt's Triad friends gunning for her, but knowing what she did now, she suspected that he had been there for her rather than himself. It made her heart beat faster that he had come to protect her that night. Her hand raised itself of its own accord from his shoulder to his face, gently passing two fingers across his cheek in a light caress. The sensation startled him out of his thoughts. He raised his eyes above her head as if he wanted to escape the soft touch, but they closed to let him concentrate on the feeling. She thought they were both a bit awed at the effect such a small touch could have.

When he opened them again, he still didn't look at her and a moment later he stopped dancing. She followed his gaze past her shoulder to see the tail end of his sister and some random boy disappearing out the door. She saw he was about to mumble out an apology, so she took his hand and let him off the dance floor in pursuit. On their way out, she noticed Tommy arguing with his father over a piece of paper. He looked furious as he smacked the document back against his father's chest and stormed out just in front of them. She and Oliver exchanged a look. He was clearly torn between going after his sister and comforting his friend. His hand was still wrapped around hers, so she squeezed it softly to get his attention.

"You go to Thea. I'll look after Tommy," she told him, waiting only for his nod to go after their friend. She found him pacing the atrium, waiting for the maid to bring his coat so he could leave. He whirled on her in anger when he heard her enter the room, but deflated as soon as he realized she wasn't his father.

"Sorry," he said. "I thought you were... someone else."

"Your father wears heels often, then?", she quipped good-naturedly.

He gave a brief chuckle, but it was clear that he was in no mood for humor.

"What's wrong?"

Tommy seemed to fight with himself for a moment. He clearly didn't want to involve her.

"You don't have to tell me. I just.. want you to know that I'm here if you want to talk." _Like you were for me_.

He looked at her for a long moment.

"It's my mother's clinic," he finally answered, leading her over to the stairs and sitting them both down on them. When the maid came with his coat, Laurel gestured for her to place it over the railing. Tommy followed the movement with his eyes, but said nothing until they were alone again. "My mother had a free clinic in the Glades. We kept it running even after... she died, because that's what she would have wanted. Now dad wants to close it, but he needs my signature and he thought now would be the best time to ask for it, because he thought I wouldn't make a scene in the middle of all these people."

Laurel didn't know what to say.

"Well, he can forget it," Tommy went on. "Mom would have wanted to keep the clinic open. It's her legacy, the last piece of her that... this city still has. I'll be damned if I let him take that away!"

"I'm so sorry, Tommy," Laurel murmured, pulling him into a hug.

"Why are you sorry?"

"This is all my fault. If I hadn't let Joana talk me into asking you for help with your father for CNRI, then-"

"Stop!", he told her firmly. "This has nothing to do with lack of money to run the clinic, Laurel. This is about my father being an ass like he's been ever since mom died. There's a reason I spent more of my childhood with Oliver and his family than with my so-called father..."

Getting up, he grabbed his coat and marched out the door. Laurel felt even worse than before. She had wanted to help him, but somehow she had only manage to make him blow up again. She shouldn't have pushed him. She should have just kept her mouth shut and let him talk it out, but she felt like she had pushed a wedge between Tommy and his father when she'd essentially sent him to do her dirty work. She kept looking at the door long after Tommy was gone, but eventually she picked herself up of the floor and went to find Oliver. She didn't have to search long. Even though she had only been to the upper level of the mansion once, the sound of arguing siblings and the terrified teenager running past her half-dressed were unmistakable.

"That stupid party isn't for us, Ollie, it's all about you! You wanted it, so you went ahead and planned it no matter what any of us wanted, even though you're just dredging up memories I'd rather forget."

Oliver was taken aback by his sister's distress. This wasn't just about teenage rebellion and sneaking off with her boyfriend, but he didn't understand.

"Why would you want to forget?", he asked quietly.

"You don't get it, do you?!", she scoffed at him. "All this, the glitter and the parties and pretending everything's okay when it's not – it will never be the way it was before we lost you and dad! Dad is still dead, you still went missing for five years and you still haven't really come back to us, Oliver, so none of this will make any difference!"

Without another glance at him she stalked back down toward the party. When she passed Laurel at the end of the hallway, Thea cast her a dark look. Laurel raised an eyebrow at her apparent hostility, wondering what she had done to deserve the young woman's ire. Before she could contemplate it further, she suddenly felt Oliver's presence. Looking back around, she started when he stood right in front of her. A hand over her heart, she took a deep breath as she tried to laugh off her embarrassment at her frightened reaction.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you," Oliver apologized with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Everything okay with Tommy?"

Laurel hung her head.

"I don't think so. Apparently, his father wants to close his mother's pro bono clinic in the Glades. He took it very badly and I think I made it even worse."

Oliver's head cocked to the side in question.

"I... I feel like I've helped cause this when I asked him to help CNRI. I just blurted out an apology, but that just made him angrier."

"Don't worry about it. He'll calm down," Oliver said confidently. "He doesn't blame you, he blames his dad and-" Oliver stopped himself to rephrase. "Trust me, none of this is your fault."

Laurel looked unconvinced, but let the issue go.

"We should return to the party," she suggested.

"I don't really feel like rejoining it, not after... well, you heard. I... Do you think I ruined their Christmas by interfering?"

She placed a hand comfortingly on his arm.

"I think you tried to do something nice to bring your family closer together. And I think that's what counts."

"That's not really an answer," he noted.

"Because I can't answer that question. Only your family can – maybe you should ask them. Talk to them," she told him gently.

He nodded.

"You should go back, though. Enjoy yourself." He didn't want to ruin her evening too.

"Nah, I think I'm heading home. Merry Christmas again, Oliver, and thank you for the dance. I had a lovely time." She smiled softly as she turned around. Before she could take two steps, she felt Oliver's hand close tentatively around her upper arm. He murmured her name urgently as if to stop her from disappearing. It reminded her of what he'd said right after they'd kissed, when Helena's intrusion had called them back to themselves. Then, she had been in such a panic she'd fled from the room. She couldn't do that to him again. When she turned around now, his gaze had adopted its earlier intensity again, but this time it dropped quickly from her eyes to her lips. Laurel's lips parted in a soft gasp and her eyes closed involuntarily as Oliver leaned in. He must have changed course at the last moment, because instead of closing over her lips, his kiss burned into her cheek.

"Merry Christmas," he murmured so low she barely heard it.

When she opened her eyes, he was walking away from her.

 **End of chapter 8!**

 **A/N:** Uh oh, how much trouble is Oliver in now? His secret is blown and he's got nothing on Black Canary. That could mean war...

 **(1)** Quote from the Justice League Unlimited episode "Grudge Match"


	9. Chapter 9

**Guardian Angels**

 **Summary:** AU/ After five years in hell, Oliver Queen has returned home with only one goal – to save his city. Unfortunately, nobody told him he'd have to wait in line.

 **A/N:**

 **highlander348** and **WinterRain36:** Well, Oliver might be determined to strike back, but Laurel certainly has more experience at hiding her tracks. She's been doing it for almost 2 years within the story and she has her father's help. So Oliver is up against great odds. We'll see if he can overcome them.

As for Helena, we'll have to wait and see how her supportive role develops. I've got some ideas for a plot with her, but the way there is still open.

 **craazyaboutMalfoy:** Wow, thanks for the compliment. I'm really happy you like the story so much! Well, Laurel had seen his tattoos and scars, she would have realized it at the latest when unzipping his jacket. But Diggle really is a dead giveaway. And, spoiler alert, I'm planning a chapter soon that has Diggle explore his own vigilante activities a bit. Look out for it!

 **Chapter 9: Everything Burns**

 _(CNRI)_

As it turned out, the third time really was the charm. With no other way to contact the Hood that wouldn't get her caught, Laurel had spent the last three nights standing a silent vigil on the roof of CNRI with a thermos jug and Big Belly Burger take-out. Internally, she rolled her eyes at herself. So, she'd struck out with her father and the busy police department and the fire department. So what. It wasn't as if she couldn't very well investigate this issue on her own. Bringing the Hood into this would just end up in having him put the fear of God into Fire Chief Raines or some other poor fire investigator. That was certainly not what she wanted, but stupidly, she had this nagging urge to see him. She just wanted to make sure he was alright after his shoot out with the Dark Archer. It had been quiet around the vigilante since then, likely because he was recovering from his injuries. Since he had been seen around a couple of times in the last week, she thought she'd try her luck. Ted could always call her if something really important happened. Speaking of whom...

Her cell phone buzzed.

 _"You know you could do this on your own, right?"_ , he said by way of greeting.

"I wanna keep an eye on Helena," she muttered quietly, irritably.

 _"...Right. Nothing to do with the handsome, gruff billionaire."_

"Nothing," she deadpanned.

 _"Hmm, have you thought of trying a light in the sky. Should increase your chances. He can't miss that, can he?"_

Laurel rolled her eyes. The day she resorted to Gotham tactics was the day she'd move there permanently. The lawyer shuddered. A dark and dreary city, she'd found it rather depressing. Still, Starling City was not as far removed from it as it had been during her childhood. Something had gone horribly wrong a few years ago and it had been dragging the entire city down with it. Laurel was determined to find out what it was, but so far all she had were a few more or less unusual connections among people like Somers and Brodeur. She had been somewhat surprised at Brodeur stashing Somers' drugs – the two were both sharks (although that was an insult to the animal, no doubt), but that's where their connection should have ended. One prowling the docks, the other the luxury estate market, with some run-down buildings in the Glades for easy exploitation on the side. Over the last eighteen months of her vigilante career there had been a few such connections, but she could make neither head nor tail of it. They didn't seem to lead anywhere else, even though she was sure there must be a common denominator.

 _"What about calling him from the phone?",_ Ted interrupted her thoughts.

" _I_ ," she emphasized, "don't have one."

 _" She does."_

"And how do you suggest-" She interrupted herself when she heard something. The noise was soft, almost cautious. She didn't turn fully around, but glanced behind her. "I gotta go."

Without further explanation, she hung up and turned around. Her breathing grew faster almost automatically as the acting began, for all of them. The Hood had brought along his new apprentice and she wasn't supposed to know about her, so she allowed her widened eyes to dart between the two figures rapidly. The Hood made a motion to Helena that signaled her to stay back. He swiftly changed hand on the bow, so she'd know he didn't mean to appear threatening as he approached her slowly with his now free hand in the air between them. Laurel didn't move or speak, she practically held her breath as she waited for him to join her. She wondered if she could fake ignorance as well as was necessary for this conversation. She cast a glance at Helena, who'd moved to lean against the wall of the stair access booth on the roof. Her arms were folded across her chest and she appeared irritated, not that Laurel didn't share the feeling.

"Laurel," the archer greeted her, refocusing her attention onto him. Him. Oliver. Under the Hood was Oliver. Who'd gotten shot a few weeks ago. Her anxiety must have shown on her face, because the vigilante grabbed her forearm gently to ground her. "You're safe, Laurel. I promise."

She wondered if he was talking about Iron Heights as much as he was talking about the present.

"I-I... need your help," she managed and might have kicked herself for the stammer, but instead pulled up her purse awkwardly and handed him the enclosed folder. He took it gingerly and looked through it, while she waited in silence.

"I'm not sure what I'm looking at," he admitted, looking back up at her.

Laurel swallowed and told herself not to be such an idiot. This time, her voice resonated with the same confidence it had in the court room and on the street.

"Recently, there's been a series of terrible fires that has killed three firemen already. The investigation has declared their deaths accidental, but the men burned hotter than the fires around them – which should be impossible unless there was some kind of fire propellant involved. On them."

She paused.

"Which would make these-"

"-murders," he finished for her. "How did you get involved?"

"Danny de la Vega was the latest victim. He's Joanna's brother," she explained, then caught herself and added hastily. "Joanna is a friend of mine who works at CNRI. My father came by a few days ago with Fire Chief Raines to... tell her. We've tried to convince them that there's something wrong, but... nothing. She's thrown herself into her work and it's worrying me. She needs the truth. She needs closure, justice for her brother."

The Hood took a step back.

"And you think I can provide this," he grumbled.

Laurel's head cocked to the side trying to identify his mood. Something was off. He seemed almost irritated at being asked for help. She leaned back at the unexpected irritation, gaging his reaction. He turned sideways hastily as if trying to avoid her calculating gaze. When she took a step closer, he twitched. He wanted to move away, but would not allow himself such a display of... weakness. For a moment, she feared he might have uncovered her identity and felt betrayed. Perhaps they hadn't managed to get everything out of the beta site in time, perhaps he had found something that could link back to Ted or to her or her dad- no. No, they had been thorough. But then, what?! She raised a hand to gently turn him back to face her.

"I heard what you said to your father that night. You called me a killer, you said I had no remorse."

"Do you? You nearly killed that man. Would have too if I hadn't... You scared me," she admitted. "Did you not scare yourself?"

Uneasy, because he had indeed been horrified – not at his actions, though, but at scaring her - he refocused his attention on the folder. "...I'm a vigilante, not an investigator."

"You were for Peter Declan," she reminded him gently. "Now I'm asking you to do the same for the firemen who died and for those who are still alive. Please..."

He shifted.

"You're cashing in the favor."

She drew back as if burned and he bit his tongue.

"I'd rather think you'll help me because that's the kind of man you are. The man who protects Starling City – but, yes, if that's how you'd prefer it." Her voice was tight now.

"That's not...," he started to say, then stopped himself and shook his head. "I'll see what I can find."

She nodded, opened her mouth to thank him, then replayed his strange behavior in her head and his insistence on this being quid pro quo and decided against it. Pressing her lips together, she regarded him for another moment while Helena came over to join them. Her eyes flitted to the Huntress, taking in her stony features. Laurel nodded again, then picked up her purse and marched back down the stairs to the office level without another glance backward. She might have banged the door a little, but that was neither here nor there.

Oliver wanted to bang his head against the door. This had gone even worse than he expected. It had become a bit of a habit to start or end his patrol at CNRI after the Declan case had led him there. The last two days he had spotted her on the roof, he had watched her silently. The first time, he had thought little of it. She was used to working late and probably just wanted some fresh air. That opinion had changed when he'd found her still on the roof huddled into her jacket later that night. He had stayed and watched her instead of turning in till the early hours of the morning. She had looked around periodically as if waiting for someone. That had caught his interest, so he had returned the next night when she had done the same. He had hoped her to be waiting for black leather-clad vigilante, so he might even out the playing field. He had sent Diggle back to the hideout as soon as they'd made it home, but it had been empty by the time the bodyguard got there. Even the keypad for the code had been taken out. Diggle tried asking around as discretely as possible, but found that most of the houses were abandoned and none of the remaining residents wanted to talk or had anything to say. And after two and a half nights, it seemed clear that Laurel was not waiting for Black Canary either, so he had to presume that she was looking for him. No one else frequented rooftops as much.

He had probably known she was waiting for him all this time, subconsciously. He just hadn't known how to approach her. His thoughts and feelings conflicted when it came to Laurel. He wanted to help her, but he also knew it would be better for him – them both, really – if he stayed as far away from her as possible. Even as Oliver, maybe especially as Oliver. Still, three days going and she had shown no sign of stopping and he couldn't leave her to sit out in the cold every night. He had brought Helena out with him tonight; having her join him on patrol occasionally kept her busy and therefore reasonably happy and it was good exercise. In this instance, it worked to his advantage as she served as a constant reminder to keep his head. Because he didn't want to deal with all the conflicting emotions, he'd settled for irritation.

That had gone well for him...

"What did your girlfriend want?", Helena asked curiously.

Oliver's heart stopped.

"She's not my girlfriend."

"Seems a lot of that is going around lately. How your pretty lawyer must struggle to juggle all the men in her life... You, Queen, Merlyn, I'm sure there's someone else."

"She's not my girlfriend," he repeated through gritted teeth.

"That's something for you to rectify," she told him. "Oh?! Is that why she was jealous?"

"She wasn't." He declared, then sighed. "I went to save her at Iron Heights and scared her almost as much as the inmates and the man sent to assassinate her-"

"That's just dumb."

"But... I owe her one. She's cashing in her chip."

"Doesn't explain her irritation. Then again... you irritate me constantly too, so I can't judge."

"Funny," the Hood muttered in reply, before launching into an explanation of the contents of the folder Laurel had given him. Helena was worming her way toward his identity as well, even if she seemed currently unaware of it. He wondered if that was such a bad thing. If they were going to be partners, they really should... trust one another. Including with his secret identity, which led him to consider why he still kept it secret if he was committed to this path. Still, the thought of revealing himself didn't sit well with him. He preferred having the advantage over her there, so he must admit to some hesitation on his side. Perhaps the niggling voice in his head that sounded like a bird he knew had enough of a point to make him hold onto his name, at least for a while longer.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Hideout)_

"We've got a case," Oliver announced as he came into the foundry. Diggle was waiting for him at the computers, the screens already open to several news reports on the fires.

"I heard. I've got a friend in the fire department. I'll reach out and see what he can dig up. Does that mean you're done hiding?"

He glared at his bodyguard.

"I've been out."

"And haven't fired a single arrow," Diggle countered. He looked at Oliver, daring him to deny it, but the other man merely grit his teeth. "Look, you were put in pretty bad shape by that archer. You took two arrows in the chest and one on the leg, it's okay if you're not fine, but avoiding it isn't going to make it better."

Diggle picked up a tennis ball that had been conspicuously lying around on the table. He bounced it off the ground a few times, watching Oliver watching the movement and putting the pieces together. Oliver had just shrugged out of his leather jacket, his bow placed back in its case, but he rose to the challenge. As soon as he gripped his bow, Diggle stopped bouncing the ball and held it up on his fingertips instead. Extending his arm outward, he offered his friend the target; an easy mark for Oliver on any other day. Too easy to really interest the expert archer. The Hood could make this shoot with his eyes closed, but the man who stood before him now hesitated. He cocked the arrow, aimed and aimed and ultimately lowered his weapon, not confident enough in his ability to take the shot.

"You know," Diggle said, "the Dark Archer beating you doesn't actually make you less good of an archer yourself. And, Oliver, you are excellent."

"I know that."

"Do you? Because I think you may have forgotten. I think this Dark Archer got into your head."

Oliver ducked his head involuntarily. He wouldn't look at Diggle and couldn't explain why he hadn't taken the shot. He suspected he didn't have to, but admitting it out loud made it real. Gave it weight. He was afraid that if he acknowledged that there was a problem, it would just dig its claws in deeper. So he avoided talking about it, thinking about it or doing anything about it, which of course did nothing to alleviate the problems he was already experiencing. He didn't take the shot, because he couldn't.

"Oliver, you have to fight this. This isn't who you are, don't let it define you."

Oliver went rigid at the reminder.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

"Yes, no problem," Walter said into the phone, even as he gripped it with a ferocity that he thought it might break under in another minute. "Another time then."

That was the fourth lunch that Moira had canceled at the last minute. Overall, she had managed to avoid him quite well since that fateful night at the Christmas party. After, she had said. Then she'd told him after that they needed to wait for things to calm down. Apparently, he had ruffled a few feathers and needed to steer clear of whatever secret project got his oldest friend killed for a while. Six weeks later he felt like she was giving him the run-around. Walter grit his teeth. He would confront her directly, maybe even start a fight – some might even call that a healthy reaction given all the secrecy in his family – but whenever he thought about doing just that at home, when they were alone in their bedroom and she couldn't escape, he saw her face from that night. She had been so worried, so distraught at the thought of losing him. She had cried and every tear cut him to the quick.

Then he thought about concentrating on Oliver's secrets for a while instead, but the picture he could already paint with what information he had was rather troublesome. Walter wasn't entirely sure he truly wanted to dig deeper and find out exactly what his stepson had been doing ever since he had come back from Lian Yu. He doubted he would particularly like the answers, even if recent events had somewhat changed the way the public viewed...

No, he was not going there.

Yet.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(CNRI)_

Laurel could hardly concentrate on work. She kept casting glances at her friend Joanna, who whisked through the office like a hummingbird. Someone who always had to keep moving, keep working or die and it was tearing at her heartstrings. She wasn't even the only one. Everyone in the office seemed to just go through the motions these days, always carefully keeping their friend and colleague in the corner of their eye as if waiting for her to crack. Which, in all honesty, they did. Concern for her friend was what prevented Laurel from concentrating on her work too, making CNRI's legal cases move forward lethargically, like molasses. People tried to do the legwork Joanna needed doing, helping her rest herself on the crutch she had turned her work into, and Laurel wondered if they were actually doing her any favors.

The woman in question dropped two folders onto Laurel's desk with a mumbled notification that the paperwork for those cases needed to be with the judge by four. She then proceeded to move onward, back to her own desk, deeply engrossed in another file. Laurel looked from her friend to the folders and back again until finally she dropped her pen and stood to join Joanna at her desk. When the other woman saw her standing over her, she shrunk back, almost afraid of what Laurel might say. In an effort to appear less threatening, Laurel sat down on the desk and grasped Joanna's hand in hers, gently stroking her thumb across the back. A small smile on her face, she tried to reassure her, but Joanna was understandably not in a smiling mood. Laurel sighed and just gripped her hand a little tighter.

"I spoke to the vigilante last night," she announced quietly. Joanna's eyes widened in surprise, no doubt having rather expected a comment about her working routine. "He finally found me on the roof."

"Finally?", Joanna croaked in return, making Laurel chuckle.

"Well, it took a few days for him to come by," she admitted with a pat on the other woman's hand. She moved her neck around a bit to combat the phantom stiffness that still resided there. The cold of those night still clung to her bones, too. When she looked back down at her friend, she saw that Joanna's eyes had turned slightly misty at the thought of Laurel waiting several nights on a cold roof in the Glades for her. She squeezed her hand again and this time Joanna thankfully squeezed back.

"What did he say?" Joanna couldn't even be mad that her friend had ignored her warning to stay out of the madman's path and cursed herself for how selfish she'd become, but her brother's death really made her glad Laurel had reached out.

"That he'll look into it. I can't promise he'll find anythi-"

"He will," Joanna said with absolute conviction. "I told you, Danny's death wasn't an accident. He burned hotter than the fire around him. The vigilante will prove that."

Laurel didn't dare mention that she'd looked into the reports for the other firemen's deaths before she decided to contact Oliver's alter ego about this. What she found in there would only tear at Joanna more; they had all burned hotter, brighter than the flames they had gone to extinguish. She felt like a terrible friend for not furthering the investigation herself, but after what happened with the Dark Archer and the sudden unexplained disappearance of the Hood, she had needed to draw him out. And the best way she had been able to think of doing just that had been to draw him in. She had figured he'd avoid Black Canary after she'd found out his secret, but she thought he might be willing to help out Laurel. She bit her lip, feeling guilty at manipulating him so, but, at this point, his continued absence had little to do with healing and she needed him back on the streets if they were ever going to get this out of the way. She suspected she knew only too well what was going on inside his head that was blocking him; not to diminish Joanna's loss, but a relatively simple case with no mobster connection might be exactly the re-introduction to crime-fighting he needed.

"Joanna," she murmured, refocusing her attention, "you know Danny's case is in good hands now. Maybe you should tell your family, spend some time-"

She interrupted herself when Joanna began to shake her head emphatically.

"No, they can't go through that. They don't know of my suspicions; it would kill them if they were left wandering. When this is all over, when he's got something, then... maybe... When he's got something, I wanna be there."

Laurel looked up into her determined face and knew she had lost her again. Joanna wouldn't stop, didn't dare to stop moving perhaps. And honestly, Laurel couldn't claim she mightn't do the same in her situation, bury herself in work to keep from falling apart. Sighing, she nodded and moved to return to her desk. Tommy was waiting for her, sitting on her desk with a slightly forlorn expression. Laurel managed a soft smile. He had obviously been there for a few minutes, waiting patiently for her to finish talking to her friend. It was heartwarming how considerate he was, not at all the image of the playboy he, too, had been before the Gambit sank. She wondered if Oliver had told him about Sara, about Laurel's connection to her, but she shook the thought away as she joined him back at her work station.

"What's wrong? It looked like you two were discussing something very serious," he inquired softly. "Is she alright?"

"No and I don't think she'll be for a while," Laurel replied sadly. "You heard about the fire the other night... Her brother was a fireman."

Realization dawned on Tommy's face and his eyes snapped back to Joanna, who had immersed herself again in the files strewn all across her desk.

"I'm so sorry. Here I was about to suggest to whisk you away to Atlantic City for a weekend to teach you how not to be a workaholic. Talk about bad timing. This is horrible."

Laurel smiled tentatively.

"Wish you could whisk her away instead."

"Just say the word," he promised, but she had to shake her head.

"She wouldn't go. She won't even go home to be with her family, or tell them about her suspi- uh, sorry."

Tommy ears perked up. He cocked his head to the side and stared at Laurel for a long moment. She was biting her lip as if to fight some rising guilt, which actually only made her look guiltier. He kept his features deliberately smooth, inviting in hopes of coaxing her to tell him. For a moment, she looked around the office, anywhere but at him, but ultimately she had to face him. With a scoff, she rounded him and sat back down at her desk. Opening a drawer she brought out a copy of the file she'd given to Oliver last night. She had kept one for herself in case nothing came up, because – and she would never tell Joanna this – she had toyed with the idea of suing the fire department, whether for wrongful death or their neglect in pursuing the investigation. She handed Tommy the folder and explained the discrepancies briefly. He looked about as horrified as she had been when she'd first found out about this.

"Her brother might have been murdered," he concluded.

"He's not the only one. There were two more firefighters who died that way in the last month."

"So, what? Someone is targeting them. Murdering firefighters? Has your father seen this? We've got to get this to the police."

Laurel scoffed.

"I tried. My father didn't find it suspicious. He trusts that Fire Chief Raines' investigators did their job correctly and they concluded the deaths to have been accidents."

"Then we gotta look into this ourselves."

"Uh, ourselves?"

"Yeah, I mean, can't hurt poking around a bit. Should be fun – well, I didn't mean, I-I just..." He trailed off. There went his big mouth again, but Laurel looked at him with a beam in her eyes. Her eyes had been dull throughout their entire conversation – aside from a spark of anger when she'd mentioned the authorities' disinterest – dragged down by the recent tragedy. He preferred that spark of determination that was in them now. They both looked over at Joanna as if to help make up their minds and Tommy was struck by another idea. He turned to Laurel with a gleam of his own. "Alright, so it's decided. Pick you up in an hour?"

"Ah, better to do this tomorrow. I was planning to go to the fire station to clean out Danny's locker. I promised Joanna... We can talk to Chief Raines then."

"Sure. I've gotta go do something first, anyway," he told her with a gleam in his eyes.

And like a little boy, at least in Laurel's view, he skidded off.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(The club/ the hideout)_

"Maybe you don't wanna talk about it with me, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't talk with someone," Diggle insisted, making Oliver grit his teeth. He really didn't need more reminders of what had gotten him into his situation in the first place. Well, his other situation, aside from his failure at year's end.

"You know, you're the second person to say that to me since I came back – bad advice doesn't get any better if you repeat it."

"How is this bad advice?", Diggle countered. "How would you even know if you've never tried it. And don't say you have, because I've seen you keep everyone at arm's length, even me, and I'm supposed to be your partner."

The two men glowered at each other. Oliver grunted in irritation, but didn't dignify that criticism with an answer. His partner couldn't know he was wrong. Oliver hadn't bothered to tell him either about the heart-to-heart he'd had with Helena at Da Russo's, which was the first time he'd ever been honest about his feeling on being back with anyone, really. And he certainly hadn't told Diggle about the party at the mansion, specifically that bit before first Helena and then the assassin had interrupted. The thought of it still made all his muscles clench in irritation and gratitude at the same time. He closed his eyes, reminding himself that he couldn't afford the distraction. He couldn't let anyone in – not his family, not his friends, not-

"Yes, and I'm sure I should see a therapist about my PTSD, but I can't, Diggle, can I? No one can know my secret."

"I think it's a bit late for that, Oliver."

"I brought you in because I needed someone and I trusted you-"

"And do you trust Black Canary as well, 'cause let me tell you, unless that was some really cunning plan of yours, she found out all on her own."

Oliver's jaw clenched. There was something he had definitely thought about a lot lately. She'd been right to keep him from a hospital, but the position and severity of his injuries would have made it impossible to hide his true identity from her even if Diggle hadn't shown up to help carry him. As with his bodyguard, he couldn't help but notice the lack of police cars in the mansion driveway in the past couple of weeks. Whatever she planned on doing with the information, going to the police apparently wasn't among her plans for him. Still, knowing his identity gave her an enormous tactical advantage over him and he couldn't help but be worried that she hadn't pressed it yet. Not even to get rid of Helena, Oliver thought with a chuckle. It worried him that he didn't know her plan.

It worried him more that he didn't know his own plan for dealing with this. The very first day he'd been back he'd been kidnapped and he had killed every last one of his aggressors in order to keep his secret. She must have realized that, too. Maybe that was why she had avoided him all these weeks. If she were afraid he'd kill her in cold blood, that was perhaps the cruelest joke of all, because Oliver himself wasn't so sure he could. And he knew without a doubt that he didn't want to. Diggle was right; he needed to talk to someone, to Black Canary to be precise, but not about his PTSD after the Dark Archer defeated him. He needed to talk to her about... all the rest, the what now...

"Well, we haven't been arrested yet, in case you hadn't noticed."

"Oh, I had noticed. In fact, I've been asking myself what she's waiting for," Diggle told him. "She's got us, Oliver, dead to rights. So why doesn't she make her move? What's she waiting for?"

"Maybe for us to make ours first," he answered, but he didn't really know. Weeks had gone by and nothing from her. He looked at his phone and wondered if she'd pick up if he called her. His fingers tingled at the thought and he moved closer involuntarily. It was lying so innocently on the desk, under one of the screens. There was only one number programed into it and it would be so easy and then it would be over with, however it turned out. There was a constant impatience in him fueled by his worry and his lack of knowledge and, more than almost anything, he wanted that feeling gone. He wanted clarity. He wanted to know where they stood. As he inched his way closer to the phone, he could feel his heartbeat rise into his throat, wondering what would happen if he didn't like the prospects. Would they finally have that confrontation that had been ghosting through the air the first few times they'd met? He didn't want to fight. He didn't want to be her enemy. He...

The alarm from a motion sensor in the club brought him out of his reverie. The screens automatically switched to security footage from the club area and Oliver was surprised to find Tommy there. He was wandering around calling Oliver's name. The man in question cast one last glance at the phone before him and marched off in the opposite direction to go meet his friend. His heart was still beating in his throat and he felt equal parts relief and consternation flood him, but plastered a smile on his face as he entered the main space of the club.

"Hey, buddy," he greeted his friend. "Sorry, I didn't know you were here. I was in the cellar."

"Hey, I'd hoped I'd find you here. Listen, you remember when you suggested we hold the CNRI fund raiser here at the club?"

Oliver's head cocked to the side, a pang of worry making it onto his face.

"What's wrong? Did your father back out? Do they need more help?"

Tommy shook his head.

"It's not for CNRI, but for one of its employees, sort of."

Oliver tried to grin.

"Well, you might try with an actual date, Tommy. Fund raisers may impress, but you've done that already and they only go so far," he teased kindly, though he felt slightly uncomfortable at his friend trying to impress Laurel.

"You heard of the recent fires, right? The fire department lost a couple of good men and women... One of them was Joanna's brother." Oliver frowned. He had only met Joanna a few times, but she'd always seemed like a nice, relatable young woman who really cared about the work she did at CNRI. He had sat over her brother's file last night, half analyzing the data, half wondering how she was doing. If Tommy's face was anything to go by, she was not coping very well. His friend went on, dragging Oliver from his musings. "I've just come from CNRI. Joanna is taking it badly. She's jumped straight into work and she looks like a ghost. I doubt she sleeps and I'm not sure she eats. Laurel is really worried."

"I'm not sure how a party is going to help. Isn't that a bit in bad taste?" He really didn't want to make it worse for Joanna by making it about the money. "Exploiting their deaths to... solicit funds?"

Tommy sighed.

"You might be right, but I thought maybe... We've gotta be able to do something, right?"

Oliver looked at his childhood friend. This really meant something to Tommy, he could see it. He had never acknowledged the changes in Tommy and his other loved ones so far. When he'd returned, he had expected them to be essentially the same if sadder. He had been so stupid not to expect them to have changed with the tragedy and the years as well. Tommy really had grown up from a man-child to a responsible adult. He was truly impressed with his best friend's new attitude and he was right; there had to be a way.

"Maybe we can make it a celebration in their honor, with a few subtle donation boxes around the room, but no talk of money."

Tommy's whole face lit up at the idea and the two embraced. A genuine grin stole its way across Oliver's face at the sudden joy. He was glad he could do something for someone he cared about that wouldn't backfire at him like Christmas. He and Tommy still hadn't talked about what happened with his father, event hough he had seen the tension in his friends shoulders these past few weeks. Obviously, Malcolm had by no means given up on closing his wife's clinic. Tommy might need the party to cheer himself up as much as Joanna.

"That's a brilliant idea! I'll handle the preparations. I know a great event planner; she can get it all together asap."

He made to grab for his phone.

"Hold your horses, Tommy. The club is still not technically open for business. We need to clear it with the city and the fire department, first."

"I'm sure they'll cut us some slack; it's for a good cause after all. But Ms Conrad, the event planner, can take care of that. I'll give her a call- ugh..."

"What's wrong?"

"My father texted me. He wants to meet me right away."

"Is this about the clinic again," Oliver questioned. At Tommy look, he elaborated. "Laurel told me. She was worried you were angry with her and she probably thought I might be better able to help you, but I... I didn't want to intrude... I figured you'd tell me in your own time."

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Merlyn Residence)_

He wasn't sure what he had expected when his father called him. A rant over the dinner table and a light lunch or maybe a stoic lecture in the living room, son, his father facing the windows and not deigning him with a glance. What he did not expect was his father sparring with his fencing teacher when he arrived and calmly continuing to do so despite Tommy's appearance. Opening his arms to both sides in a universal gesture for 'what the fuck', Tommy approached the mats while the two man happily continued to dance back and forth. He thought about saying something, calling his father to order and questioning him on the urgent text, because the sooner he could put the clinic talk to rest again, the sooner he could go help finding out what happened to Joanna's brother, plan the fund raiser and spend time with people he actually liked in general. In the end, however, he knew that would only make it worse and he refused to dignify his father's neglect with a call for his attention, so he turned around and made to leave instead.

"Tommy," his father's admonishing voice followed his first three steps toward freedom. Tommy wanted to laugh; he was so predictable.

"Took you long enough," he mocked while turning around. "Here I thought you hadn't seen me there. You know, like you basically haven't seen me since mom died."

"Don't test me, son," Malcolm warned him, pulling the helmet from his head and depositing both it, his gloves and his weapon on a nearby bench.

"Look, dad, if this is about the clinic-", Tommy began tiredly. He was so over discussing this issue.

"Yes, actually, it is about the clinic," his father announced, picking up a piece of paper Tommy hadn't noticed before. He glowered at it though, immediately knowing what it was. When his father extended it toward him, Tommy kept his hands stubbornly at his side, going so far as to shove them in his trouser pockets spitefully. Malcolm approached him, folding the document and placing it in his inside pocket. "You will sign it or I will freeze your accounts."

"That's my trust fund!", Tommy spluttered.

"Which is composed of my money," Malcolm reminded him dismissively.

"...You would... you would extort me just t-to close mum's clinic!", he accused angrily. He knew his father was ruthless, but he'd never thought that he'd go to such lengths to get what he wanted.

"I see it more as a way to help you grow up. You're a dandy, son. You live off of my money and laze the days away. I'm merely providing you with the incentive to do something with your life – actually build yourself a life, as it is."

He paused to look at Tommy's angry face.

"I'm more than happy to offer you a job at Merlyn Global. It will be your company one day, after all, you might as well know its inner workings."

"But only if I sign away my soul first," Tommy muttered.

Malcolm scoffed.

"Oh, don't be so dramatic!"

"That's what it feels like to me, dad!", he yelled, catching Malcolm's full attention for the first time. He pulled out the paper and waved it at his father. "It feels like a betrayal. This isn't what mom would have wanted! She'd have kept that clinic open no matter what, but then she was always the true humanitarian in the family."

The document crumbled in his hands. He was so angry and hurt and confused. After all these years... His mother had died so long ago and yet his father had kept the clinic going all these years. He couldn't fathom why he would give up on it now. Tommy had gone there from time to time, to feel close to his mother who had been taken from him so early in his life. As long as the clinic was active, Tommy had always felt like there was still a piece of his mother in the world. Now his own father wanted to kill that last remnant of her presence and bury it.

"You're wrong, son," Malcolm said, his voice deathly calm. "The dead don't want anything."

He had pulled back and punched his father before he could even think about it. His father seemed mildly surprised, but didn't fight back even when Tommy grabbed him by the collar.

"Maybe you can dismiss her so easily, but I will honor mom's memory. This clinic was her life, her legacy – and I'll be dammed if I let you take that away from her or from the people of the Glades who need it."

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Somewhere in Starling City)_

"There's something off with you," Huntress helpfully pointed out in the middle of a robbery prevention. The frightened couple that had been accosted just a few streets from the restaurant where they had dinner was sandwiched against the wall of the alley in which they had been dragged. Oliver watched the two men slid down against the wall to make themselves smaller targets, hands clasped tightly together and he almost envied them. Envied their normalcy if not their nearly being robbed. He and Huntress had happened upon the issue and descended down on the gang bangers with vicious precision. They hadn't even needed to talk or coordinate themselves, each concentrating on those assailants that were closest to them – until Helena decided the fight was too boring and she wanted a conversation, that is.

He grunted in response.

In all fairness to her, it was rather dull. The two men she was fighting were hardly a match, despite the tough guy acts and the tall tales about what they were going to do to her leather-clad ass. She mentally rolled her eyes at the crass language, knowing they'd never get within a foot of her, unless it was so she could break them like twigs. She blocked another, pulling the young man closer to repeatedly slam her knee into his groin and abdomen. There was a certain glee in hearing him wheeze, sucking in air in pain, she admitted, but it was a passing satisfaction as she had to let him go with one last knee strike crunching his face when his partner demanded attention. He'd crept up on her to lock her arms in a vice around her midriff. She had vaguely heard one of the men they had attacked call out a warning.

Helena slammed her head back into his nose, then scraped her foot along his shin. He let go with a surprised yelp that turned into an unintelligible groan when her elbow made contact with his temple on her turn. She would thrown him into a nearby dumpster, but before she could grab hold of him a third assailant crashed right into him, so they both banged their heads against it. Done with her half of the idiots, she went to lean calmly against the wall by the couple and watched her mentor do his part. Helena cocked her head to the side. He was certainly ruthless enough, but it was all brute strength and no finesse – nothing like the acrobatic take-downs she had seen him do before.

"You could have put the fear of... us into them from the roof by shooting them and instead, nothing. Ever since your encounter with that other archer, you've been... what? - holding back?"

He didn't deign to respond while he kicked the last gang banger in the gut.

"Finding yourself? What?", Helena persisted.

He turned around to tell her to shut up, which was clearly a mistake, because the gang banger realized his chance and slammed his fist across the Hood's face. Oliver grunted, half in pain and half in anger. The criminal had the clarity of mind to run toward the mouth of the ally rather than continue to engage them. Oliver was up and ready to go after him, but Helena put a hand against his chest. She'd picked up a small piece of metal pipe and hurled it after the man, hitting him precisely in the back of his head. He went down instantly. She turned back to him with her arms crossed and a smug smile curving her lips.

"I would have handled him," Oliver griped.

"Yeah, you could have shot him. Isn't that what a bow is for? Distance warfare... What did that archer do to you?"

"Nothing."

"Bullshit," she spat. "It's clearly not nothing when some third-rate criminal-" Here she turned to the frightened couple with a quick "no offense"- "can get the better of you in a fight and you won't even use your signature weapon."

"Huntress...", he was about to say something, but instead he just sighed and turned to the couple. "Get a cab home," he suggested. They nodded frantically, thanked them and ran off. Oliver made his way over to where they'd been cowering and sat himself down on the ground. Perhaps Diggle was right; he needed to talk about it and why not with Helena. She was someone who understood him, even if she didn't know it yet. He looked up into her expectant face and opened his mouth only to be interrupted by Diggle's voice.

" _Oliver, I've got some new information for you. Eye witnesses put a 1975 pick up at the scene of each firefighter's death and my contact in the fire department finally got back to me. Stagg Chemical just lit up like a Christmas tree a few minutes ago. It's not far from you. From what my contact told me, plus the news coverage, it's bad."_

He looked at Helena again. She gestured with her hand as if to urge him on, but they had more important business now.

"News feed," he told her, "just reported a fire nearby. The fire department is already there and it might be nothing..."

"Or it might be our firebug," Helena suggested. She seemed mildly worried. "Let's go."

It didn't take them long to find their way to the action. They could feel the heat radiating off the house even from across the street. He could hear Helena take in a deep breath when she saw the inferno the firefighters were walking into, but when he told her to wait there, she merely scoffed at him. She pulled out a hair band and quickly gathered her long tresses together in a messy, but blessedly short bun. They couldn't risk her hair catching fire and Oliver vowed to add a hood to her outfit after they made it out of there. Looking for an entry point, he thought he saw a dark figure standing nearby and watching the scene, but when turned, there was no one there. A light slap on the arm brought him back to attention. He figured the best angle of approach would be from above, so the two of them slammed through one of the upper windows and into hell. Everything was on fire, the very air they breathed seemed to burn and Oliver felt his lungs fight to retain the oxygen it provided. The tender flesh of his windpipe felt like it was being boiled, but after a quick glance at Helena they soldiered on. Deeper into the house they discovered two firemen struggling near a railing. One of the firemen was pushing the other over the railing. He grabbed onto the other man's hands to loosen them from where he tried to grip on.

"You pull up the fireman, I'll deal with the firebug," Helena suggested quietly s they moved closer, but Oliver was already moving.

He jumped down onto the lower level, so that he would crash into the attacker. They both feel in a heap on the ground. He could hear Helena cursing behind him as she latched onto the firefighter who was still hanging on for dear life. She grabbed one arm with both hands and held on for dear life, but the man was too bloody heavy for her alone with all that gear and the oxygen tank he was wearing. She cast a glance at the Hood. No help would come from his direction. He'd scrambled to his feet again and was engaged in a struggle with the assailant. Helena watched in horror as the other man threw her partner onto the ground and kicked him twice in the stomach. Without thinking she loosened her grip to go to his aid, before the sudden pull she felt from the firefighter's weight reminded her why she was holding on for dear life. She looked down at his frightened face. She was losing him, even now, could feel him slipping through her fingers. Never would Helena be so grateful for the Black Bitch to show up and lend a helping hand like right now. She tried to grasp on tighter, but she kept losing her grip and she could see the other fireman pulling something out of his pocket in the corner of her eye.

"Let go," the firefighter told her, scared but calm. "You can't hold me; we'll just both fall down. Let go."

It was obvious that he was scared out of his mind. He didn't want to die, but his stupid heroics were putting tears in Helena's eyes and like hell would she just let go!

"No, I'm not-"

Before she could finish a small flash bomb or incendiary bomb went off, sending sparks flying everywhere. The sudden brightness made Helena cover her eyes instinctively and it still hurt. The light was blinding, flashing beneath her eyelids, but it was the accompanying scream that truly horrified her. In her knee-jerk reaction she'd lost her grip on the firefighter. Just when she had promised not to let go, that was exactly what she had done. Half her body followed him over the railing as she tried to reach him, but she was too late. All she could do was watch him fall into the flames. To his death.

"NO! No, no, no, I'm sorry! I didn't mean... I didn't want... I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" She was crying for real now, sobbing. Her arms continued to reach out as if she could still save him if she just... kept... reaching. But he was gone; she'd failed him. Betrayed him, really. She had said she wouldn't let go, she'd promised and then she'd left him to die. How could she?! All the people she had hurt in her crusade against her father, all the people she still planned to hurt and she couldn't save one stupid, self-sacrificing hero?! She continued to look at the flames, trying to find a trace of him. A silhouette, maybe.

"Huntress, we have to go."

"Go, yes... we have to find him."

"There's nothing to find. He's dead."

"No," she shook her head. Her gaze kept flitting between his pained face and the hell below. "Th-the s-suit is supposed to... to protect...them. It withstands fire, it-"

"Not if you fall into the flames. I'm sorry. He's gone."

The metal around them creaked under the pressure.

"It isn't safe," a new voice told her. Black Canary – too late, too fucking late! "We have to leave."

"But h-he... I promised-"

"I know," the Hood said, but he continued to steer her away from the railing, until Black Canary grabbed hold of her hand and forcibly pulled Helena with her. The fire was spreading to more and more areas. They needed to get out of there. So when they found a window they could crash through, they didn't hesitate to jump. They were still almost two stories above ground and the impact hurt like hell, even though their training kicked in and they all rolled away to minimize damage. For a moment, they remained groaning on the ground. The building next to them was still in flames, though, so they quickly put some much-needed distance between them and the fire, leaving the fire department to reign in the flames. There was nothing more they could do. The mood between them was glum once they found a quiet rooftop. They all stood in a loose circle without looking at each other, lost in their own thoughts or perhaps their own guilt. They had failed this time. Failed again in Oliver's case. He looked at Helena. This was the first time she had lost someone she had tried to save. The dark-haired woman was huddled a few feet from him, her arms crossed over her chest and holding herself. She looked forlorn, but when Canary approached her, something snapped and the other woman shoved her back viciously.

"Where. THE. FUCK. Where. You. Tonight?!", she screamed at her at the top of her lungs and Oliver flinched. "That man died and where were you?!"

"Huntress," Oliver said calmly, trying to reach her in that darkness. When her eyes fell on him, he was surprised that he didn't keel over dead...

"And you! You've been off your game for the past couple of weeks! I told you I would handle him, I told you to help the fireman, but you... you just jumped in, knowing you're screwed up like you are!", she raved at him. She looked so disgusted and he couldn't blame her. He was disgusted with himself recently. "What is wrong with you?!"

"Nothing is _wrong_ with him that oughtn't be," Black Canary told her through clenched teeth, trying to stay calm. Helena had just undergone a truly terrifying event, but raging at them – as much as she may need that at the moment – would not help her or anyone in the long run. "You're right; it's my fault. I should have been there. And it's his fault; he should have known his own limits. And it's your fault; you shouldn't have let go. And it's the fire department's fault; they should have taken this firebug seriously from the start."

She paused for a moment.

"We can all take a slice of the blame and maybe we all should, but you know who is ultimately responsible? The psychotic man who set the fire and threw that firefighter over the railing in the first place! Maybe it's not about whose fault it is or what we should have done, but about what we do now. He needs to be stopped. Help us, so that there are no more firemen like that poor man tonight, loosing their lives. No more families to mourn their sons and daughters. Concentrate!"

She knew the moment she said it that it was the wrong thing to say. Helena looked at her as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing. Laurel couldn't quite believe she had said it, either. What had she been thinking?!

"Do you even listen to yourself?! You call me a loose cannon and a murderer and now look at you – a man just died and you don't even care-"

"Of course I care!..." She stopped to take a breath. "I'm sorry. I know how it sounded. I do care, but I can't... I- This is the life, Helena. This is how you deal with tragedy; you compartmentalize until you get the job done, then – and only then – do you allow yourself to fall apart."

And Laurel knew exactly how harsh that sounded, how callous toward the life they'd just lost. Fuck, she hated herself on days like these, so she completely understood the utter distaste with which Huntress regarded her right then. Helena looked from her to the Hood, who stood quietly throughout it all and refused to meet her eyes, then back to Laurel and shook her head while backing away from them.

"You two make quite the couple, don't you?", she asked tonelessly. "You sanctimonious bitches."

Laurel wanted to respond to that, she really did, but she had done enough for one night. And she knew Helena was just letting out all her disappointment in them.

"Helena," the Hood tried again, quietly. Gently extending an arm toward her, he tried to approach her, but she just backed off further to the edge of the roof.

"I... can't... I get it, I do," she admitted in a calmer tone. "But I... I just need... to get out of here. I can't be here right now."

With that she leaped off the roof and Canary made to follow her initially, but Oliver called her back. She didn't put up an argument, simply walked the final few paces to the edge of the roof and sat down with her feet dangling off. She wasn't leaving, but she was not confronting him either, leaving him the choice of whether or not to talk to her and he appreciated it more than his constricting throat could say. He warred with himself, but she clearly wanted to talk and he had nowhere else to be and no one else to talk to except Diggle. And they had tried that; it didn't really lead anywhere. So he said down next to her.

"So, you're not all sunshine and daisies, huh?", he tried to joke.

"At the beginning...no, before the beginning. Before I jumped down the rabbit hole, I saw some gang banger mugging a young woman. He had a baseball bat with him." He looked at her surprised at the story rather than the interrogation he'd expected. "I was so tired of how this city was steadily getting worse, all the unreported and unsolved crimes; crime rates were going through the roof. I had a lot of training and I suddenly felt like I should do something. I'm sure you can guess how that turned out..."

He nodded quietly. Training wasn't experience.

"I snatched the bat from him before he realized I was there and hit him across the back. In retrospect, I should have gone for the head and I shouldn't have pulled my punches, but I was hesitant. I didn't really want to hurt him, I guess. My mistake; he blocked the next swing and punched me in the face. Sent me to the ground and kicked me a few more times for good measure. I knew I was lucky that's all he did... The young woman had run at the first chance and I was alone. I don't remember what happened next, but somehow I made it out of there."

"And that inspired you?" He was beginning to wonder why she was telling him this.

"To call in sick and spend the next three days hiding in my apartment, wrapped in my blankets and pillows and nightmares, maybe..."

He cocked his head at her in surprise. He couldn't imagine the woman before him hiding from anything.

"It's not the same as what happened to you, not even close, but... I think it's relatable." She looked at him then. "So I don't know what you're going through exactly, but I know what it feels like to want to hide from the world. Thing is, it doesn't make us better. I had to come out from under my blankets eventually and face the world again."

"I've been out," he protested like he had with Diggle and he could hear the other man's snort through the comms. Of course, now he would make himself known.

She just looked at him.

"Whatever your associate likely said to you, I agree with."

He scowled at her.

"I'm sorry for tonight. It's my fault, really," she then said out of the blue, transforming his scowl into a surprised gasped. Did she plan that? How did she always know what to say to throw him off?

"So, I did see you on that other roof tonight," he concluded remembering the figure that suddenly disappeared.

"Yes, I... I've been following this case from a distance, since... well, since CNRI."

"CNRI?", he asked suspiciously.

"Come on, did you really think you were the only one who noticed your lawyer friend waiting on the rooftop. She certainly wasn't waiting for me...", she told him, a little offended. "Although, if you'd taken any longer to approach her... I might have called you to tell you to get your butt over there."

He snorted.

"I thought it might be just what you needed... to get back in the... I don't want to call it 'game', because it isn't, but that's the phrase, right?... Something detached from your normal crusade against the Rich and Corrupt. Low personal stakes if you can call it that when lives depend on you... I'm sorry, I shouldn't have placed you on the board like a pawn as I did."

Oliver contemplated that for a long moment, wondering if he mightn't have done something similar if their situations had been reversed. Drawn her into one of his cases to get her back on track, back on her feet as it were.

"Diggle said the other archer got into my head," he finally admitted.

"Didn't he? You haven't trusted yourself since that night."

" _Exactly. He took something from you. He took whatever lets you jump off of buildings and fight bad guys,"_ Diggle added in his ear.

"Thanks for the analysis, Dig. You make it sound like I fought a wraith or a vampire. He took something from me..."

"That's actually a good way to put it... You nearly died. I would have been surprised if that hadn't affected you," she mused, but Oliver shook his head at both of them.

"I'm not afraid of death. I faced it often on the island and it was a thousand times worse, but I never feared it because I had nothing to lose. But now, with the people I've let into my life – my family, Tommy, Laurel, even you – I couldn't help but think about what would happen to them if they lost me and... for the first time in a long time, I had something to lose."

" _You think the people you care about take your edge away, I think they give you one,"_ Diggle replied seriously, while Canary remained quietly pensive for the moment. _"With the life you lead, you can have something to live for or not – something to live for is better in my experience."_

"What did he say now?"

"That my loved ones give me something to fight for."

"Yes, but not just fight-your-enemies-fight, but fight for yourself. Fight to make it through and come home."

"Please, I can do without the motivational speech."

"No, you can't," she countered. "Our loved ones pose a weakness that can be exploited, I don't deny that."

That made him pause mid-motion while he was getting up.

"That's why we wear masks; to protect them and ourselves. But those masks only protect them as long as we're alive and hidden behind them. And to do this... to live this life, you need more than skill. Motivation is key; so why are you doing this?"

He grunted, unwilling to answer.

" _Hand me over,"_ Diggle said. _"_ _Someone needs to_ _tell her._ _She knows everything else anyway... It might even push her to help us instead of handing us over._ _"_ Before he could reply, Canary continued.

"Fine, don't answer. It doesn't really matter. Whatever your reason is, it's not the same as your motivation. Not entirely. If it were, you could just have gone rogue as Oliver Queen, or given up that life to focus fully on your vigilante activities, but you didn't. You decided to strike a precarious balance, because those people are important to you. Their happiness is important to you and so are their lives. Looks like to me, you've had something to fight for all along – now accept it."

"What good is that supposed to do?!"

"They are already your weakness, now let them be your strength as well."

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 _(Laurel's apartment)_

Laurel was working at her desk when all the lights suddenly went out in the apartment. Her first instinct was to go grab the gun from a nearby drawer, but then memories of her other visit by the vigilante flashed through her mind. She was reasonably sure it was him who was breaking into her apartment, again. But just to be on the safe side, she looked for something else that could be used as a weapon, finally knocking a screen of a lamp and grabbing hold of the base. She removed herself from behind the desk where her movements would be too inhibited. As she moved around, she saw the vigilante's darkened figure move into her line of sight and dropped the lamp back onto the ground.

"Is there a reason we can't do this without a power outage?", she asked teasingly.

"I have some information for you," he replied seriously, which sobered Laurel's attitude toward the intrusion. She nodded, even though he was standing sideways to her and looking down, so she didn't know if he saw it.

"What is it?", she therefore asked.

"There was a 1975 pick-up at every scene where a firemen died, including Stagg Chemical earlier tonight. The aggressor's right hand is badly burned, but I could see a firefly tattoo on it before he left."

Laurel swallowed.

"You must have gotten pretty close, then," she surmised, not that she hadn't seen it when she went in after them... eventually. She bit her lip when guilt flooded her at leaving him alone with this case. "What am I supposed to do with this information now?"

A beat of silence.

"Whatever you would have done before you met me."

"Go to the police? I tried that; even my father wouldn't listen."

"Try again. This time you have corroborating evidence."

With that, he was gone.

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 _(Fire Station)_

Oliver was just coming out of the fire station when he saw Laurel approach with Tommy in tow. Apparently, they had worked through the misunderstandings at his family's Christmas party. He was a bit surprised to see Tommy there, to be honest, since his friend had already sent him to double-check the guest list for their remembrance soirée at the club. To be honest, Laurel looked almost as surprised when she spotted him, but he saw the small smirk his friend gave him. They stopped in a little group together.

"What are you two doing here?"

"Came to clear out Danny's locker. Uh, he's Joanna's brother and she can't... What about you?", Laurel redirected.

"Came to double-check the guest list for tonight." At Laurel's uncertain frown, he elaborated. "Didn't Tommy tell you? We're holding a... wake, of sorts, for the firefighters at the club – well, its building."

Eyes wide, Laurel turned to a brightly grinning Tommy.

"It seemed appropriate. You know, to remember them and their brave, selfless service to our city. There'll be some donation boxes subtly arranged toward the sides, but nothing to distract from the main theme of the night: honoring Starling City's Fire Department." He ducked his head a little shyly. "I thought, maybe it could give Joanna some closure?... And if we can prove that Danny and the others were murdered..."

"You two planned this in two days?", she asked, gaze flickering between the two men.

"Well, I helped a little. It was really more Tommy's thing; I just provide the space," Oliver admitted, a little taken aback when he realized. His friend had really been more involved in planning almost every major event in which Oliver had participated recently, except for that disastrous Christmas party. There was his homecoming night, the CNRI charity and now this. Tommy had proven himself quite the event planner, really, but more than anything Oliver was awestruck by his friend's commitment.

"I- uh, I don't know what to say..."

"Say that you'll come," Tommy suggested. "And that you'll bring Joanna."

"Uh, yes, yes, of course. I-I can't believe you did this," she stammered adorably as she hugged them both in turn. Her lips pressed together, but she couldn't suppress the smile that formed on her face. These two idiots; they might just be the best friends anyone could ask for. "Uh, we should get inside... Thank you, Oliver."

She squeezed his shoulder in passing as she and Tommy proceeded to the fire station. One of the firefighters showed them to Danny's locker, then left them to clear it out in peace. Laurel rocked on her feet for a bit, hesitant to actually open it. Suddenly, the weight of the picture she'd gotten from Joanna that morning seemed to increase tenfold. The weight of every man's soul in that picture. They had all been smiling when it was taken and now so many of them were gone, one of them her friend's brother. She swallowed thickly, thinking for the first time about what it would do to Joanna if she couldn't get ahead of this. If she couldn't find the culprit and left her friend to wonder for the rest of her life about what ifs.

"Laurel? Laurel," Tommy called her back. "Why don't you go ahead and talk to Chief Raines. I'll join you in a moment.."

His eyes were kind when she focused on them, a gentle warmth emanating from them. After what happened with Helena last night, it cut her to the bone. She had been so hardened by her choice of life; did she still deserve such tenderness? Did it still suit her? But she nodded without protest, glad to escape the stuffy, claustrophobic feeling of the locker room. She found Chief Raines next to one of the fire engines. Without preamble, she pulled out the picture.

"You were all a team once. You called yourself the Fireflies."

His eyes darkened at the image.

"That station house was shut down a few years back. Al the guys went to different companies, so..." He wanted to dismiss it, she could see it in his eyes. That panicked look at being faced with the obvious.

"Four of these men are dead now."

"Yeah, well, it's not all rescuing kittens out of trees, Ms Lance. This is a dangerous job," he reminded her in irritation.

"So risky that three of them, three men from the same team, died in just four weeks, all of them under suspicious circumstances."

"They're not suspicious just because Joanna will not accept that her brother died. I understand... I do, she wants a reason, something more than an accident or an act of God, but sometimes there just isn't one. Sometimes tragedies happen, Ms Lance."

"The fourth one," Laurel went on unerringly, "died two years ago in the Nodell Tower Fire. You don't find this at all strange?"

"That firemen died in fires? No – did you forget something Mr Queen?", he gladly redirected her attention when he noticed the other man walking up to them.

"Nope, just wanted to see if my friend here needed some help... What's the Nodell Tower Fire?"

Raines looked at him like he had two heads.

"How can you not know?", he asked, while Tommy approached them with a box containing Danny's stuff from the locker.

"My friend was wifi-free for a little while, in case you don't remember," he told the chief testily. He knew Oliver didn't like to be reminded of the time he was trapped on the island. Even with all the mannerisms he had adopted from there, it was still blatantly clear that he didn't want to talk or think about it. Tommy couldn't suppress the flash of irritation when Raines so callously remarked on his lack of knowledge regarding certain matters of current events. "His lack of knowledge isn't by choice."

"Twenty-two stories of glass and steel. Except it turned out that the construction company had used substandard material to save themselves a few bucks. It was nowhere near the structural code."

Tommy and Laurel both looked stricken.

"Gas line blew," Tommy finally said. "There was a fire."

"Yeah, bit of an understatement, that," Raines sighed. "Melted right through the stanchions... whole damn thing came down. Thirty-four civilians and six of my fellow firemen died..."

There was an awkward silence between all four of them.

"Now, do you need anything else Ms Lance, other than reminding me of all the friends I've lost."

Something changed in Laurel's eyes. She had been stricken by the tragedy and moved by his grief, but not something turned hard in her glare. She was not one to back down.

"You didn't lose them, Chief Raines, they were taken from you and, more importantly, from their families. Three in four weeks and you're still not willing to acknowledge what's right in front of your eyes. How many more have to die? And ask yourself this, what if it's you next?", she told him with an edge of steel in her voice as she handed him the photograph and turned on her heels. All Tommy and Oliver could do was follow her out.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Club/Hideout)_

Oliver shrugged his suit jacket on as he joined the benefit in his club with Diggle on his heels. Tommy had truly outdone himself. There were banners hanging from the ceiling to the floor depicting shadow figures of firefighters, highlighted by fluorescent stripes. The crowds were mingling in between them and around small tables and Oliver could spot his friends chatting near the center of the party, occasionally pointing to the sidelines. Following his indication, Oliver found small, unobtrusive boxes covered in black satin, a thin slit their only opening. He watched as several people slipped cash or checks through them to support the fire department and felt very relieved that their strategy of subtlety was not backfiring on the firefighters.

He caught sight of Tommy again when Laurel approached him with Joanna in tow. The other lawyer seemed to be both slightly uncomfortable at the benefit and relieved that something was happening. She gave Tommy a long hug in gratitude for all the effort he had put into them and, when Oliver joined him, he was pulled into her embrace as well. Her expression was raw. It was clear that she was still hurting and that she was upset at the lack of acknowledgement in the fire department for her brother's murder, but Joanna kept herself together admirably – for the sake of all the other firefighters and their families if nothing else. Laurel squeezed her shoulder gently.

"Thank you, both of you, for what you're doing. It's... it's good that Danny and the others will be remembered," she told them hesitantly.

"It was the least we could do," Tommy replied quietly. "I know... We know it's not enough... It's not what you need."

Oliver nodded.

"N-no," Joanna said, shaking her head emphatically, "but it's what Danny deserves. All of them and... thank you."

"I'm sure the rest will be resolved in time," Laurel reassured her friend, leaving Oliver to bite his lip. He had already faced the firebug and failed. He didn't know what could possible change next time. He felt Diggle's eyes on himself from across the room, where he'd gone to man the entrance in case of... Well, that was why Oliver was there. To confirm a suspicion. He gave a small smile.

"Do you two mind if I borrow Laurel for a minute?", he asked gently, his eyes on Joanna. She seemed a bit reluctant to part with her friend, but nodded when Tommy promised to keep her company. Oliver, meanwhile, walked Laurel over to where Fire Chief Raines was standing at the bar. He turned around and greeted them with both surprise and suspicion mixed in. Clearly, he hadn't forgotten their last conversation. Well, it was about to get revived and Oliver felt only marginally sorry to bring up the man's bad memories again.

"Mr Queen, this is spectacular," he admitted, gesturing at all the decorations and perhaps hoping to steer the conversation. That might have been why he completely ignored Laurel's presence at least. "The Starling City's Firemen's Relief Association can'th thank you enough."

"You guys are the real heroes... like at the Nodell Tower fire, which I've been reading up on."

"Oh yeah?", Raines prompted, but now there was a certain hostility in his tone. Oliver didn't blame him; it was no different from the tone he adopted when somebody asked him about the island. Oliver went on, unperturbed.

"As Laurel pointed out earlier today, Garfield Lynde was the first man to die in your unit... Now, I read that they recovered his code in the wreckage, but they never found his body."

He could feel Laurel's wide eyes on him.

"You always interrogate your club's guests, Mr Queen."

"Why, do you feel interrogated?", Oliver countered.

"Let's cut through the filler conversation," Laurel muttered at both of them. "It was my mistake not to dig deeper when I found the connection between all the deceased firemen, but if Lynde survived... would he have motif to seek revenge?"

"You weren't on an island, ms Lance. I'm sure you saw the footage from the fire. There's no way he could have survived that."

"What aren't you telling us?", she questioned further. "There's more to the Nodell fire than people know, isn't there?"

Perhaps it was something on their faces that spurred the knowledge that he would not escape this conversation, because he finally resigned himself to answer.

"...I've been doing this a long time, Ms Lance, and I've never seen a fire like it. It was like some monster out of a science fiction movie. I radioed for my men to get the hell out of there, but Lynde refused to leave. He thought the building could be saved. He begged me... to send the unit back in, but I wouldn't do it. Couldn't. God help me, I left him there to burn... but I can't bring him back."

"You don't have to. He is back," Oliver said.

"He killed Danny," Laurel added. "And the other men of your unit."

Before Chief Raines could say or do anything in response to his statement, there was a commotion next to them. Groups of people shuffled out of the way following a small yelp. When Oliver and Laurel turned, they found themselves face to face with a fireman in full montage. Even under the helmet they could make out the burn mark on Garfield Lynde's face. Oliver moved to herd Laurel behind him as the other guests began shuffling out of the club, which turned into a panicked run when Garfield through an incendiary bomb behind him. The banners were the first to catch fire, causing literal walls of flame to rise all over the club. Oliver could hear Tommy and Diggle shouting, directing the guests out of the club in a hurry, but he kept his eye on Garfield.

"Gar...", Chief Raines mumbled. "How can you... You can't be here! You died at the Nodell Towers!"

"No, but you'll die here," he announced quietly, taking his helmet off to show them the full extent of his scars. The fire had burned off half his face and who knew what scars were hidden under the former fireman's uniform. Oliver felt a strange kinship with Garfield Lynde. They had both survived horrifying death traps by the sheer power of will and vengeance. The need, the thirst to take back and to exact revenge had kept them moving forward. Like Helena, too. They were so alike, the three of them, but now Oliver was looking at the face of what he might become if he let it get too far, consume too much of who he was. All the people in this club endangered, just to get even. He could never allow himself to fall into that abyss.

Garfield looked at him and Laurel and, mercifully, ordered them to run. Part of it was probably the delight of seeing them scramble to get away from him, but part, Oliver suspected, was also a little shred of humanity left that the Nodell fire hadn't consumed. He pushed for Laurel to run toward the exit, while he himself made a beeline for his secret door.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

Helena sat huddled in the darkened room. Her knees were pulled up to her chest and her arms loosely hugged her legs, so she could still look at her hands. She couldn't stop looking at her hands. There were some abrasions from the rough material of the fireman's uniform as it kept slipping out of her grasp. Every time she looked at them, she expected burns to appear. Burns like the man suffered, before he actually died in the flames. She almost expected her hands to be reduced to charcoal briquettes and ash, but instead they remained stubbornly intact. She had let the fireman down, she had let him go. She had failed him... and his family. Did he have a family? If he did should she go there and say something to them? What could she say? What would be enough?

Nothing. Nothing she could say would be enough.

She had promised. Promised. She had wanted to save him; she didn't mean to let him go, but it didn't matter, because in a stupid moment of panic, she had let. him. go. And then he had fallen, fallen, fallen into the flames until he was completely engulfed and she couldn't see him anymore. She had never considered how her actions affected those other than herself and her targets while trying to take down her father, but this man had relied on her actions, on her, to keep him alive and she had just... lost him. And then Canary and the Hood – oh, they made her so angry! She had no right to be angry with how carelessly she had treated the lives of others, but they had – she had, especially – sat on their high horses all this time and now they were just like her. The fireman was gone and she kept seeing his startled, frightened face as he fell. Fell, he never stopped falling in her memory. The moment was stuck on repeated as she rocked herself back and forth, back and forth...

Helena didn't know if she was crying anymore; she thought she might be, she had before, was she still? Did it matter? All the tears in the world couldn't extinguish the flames in her memory. Everything burned. She felt like she might be burning, her mind was burning. There was fire and heat and pain in every cell of her body while her thoughts and feelings kept whirling to the point she couldn't keep holding on to a single one. She didn't even notice at first when a screen lit up, the brightness melding with the eerie glow of the fire that kept burning in her mind. Finally, it was the sound that caught her attention; a chopper, frightened cries and someone talking over the roar. She looked up to see that Oliver's club had caught fire during the benefit. There was talk of an arsonist and Helena's heart stopped. She half stood up as if wanting to go there, get her rematch. But part of her remained frozen; she couldn't face him, what if she failed again?!

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Club/Hideout)_

Laurel ran toward the exit, wishing she'd skipped the benefit and just watched over it as Black Canary, but she had promised to bring by Joanna. She was looking for something to use as a weapon and ran into Tommy instead. The two collided head on since she wasn't paying attention to where she was going other than steering clear of the fire. She was nearly knocked over due to the impact, but Tommy managed to catch her at the last moment.

"Where's Joanna?"

"I got her out immediately."

He looked frantically around her as if waiting to see someone else appear.

"Where's Ollie?"

"He's still inside!", she answered him distractedly when her eyes fell on a nearby fire extinguisher.

"We can't leave him there!"

Tommy followed her gaze, but gave her a look when she went to grab it. When all Laurel did was frown at him, he gave a pointed look at the sea of fire that had quickly spread through the entire club.

"Like you said, we can't leave him there and I like our chances better with the fire extinguisher than without," Laurel told him with an eye roll. He couldn't really argue with that, except for the plural she used.

"You're right, but you need to get out of here. I'll see if I can find him."

Laurel only scoffed. Not that he had expected any different, really.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

Oliver had changed as quickly as he could, but even with his hurry, Garfield had managed to drench Chief Raines turpentine and pulled out a lighter in the meantime. Oliver contemplated firing at the man's chest, by far the largest target, but he didn't want to kill him. Still, the lighter was such a small target and Oliver hadn't even been able to hit a tennis ball in the last couple of weeks! He swallowed, torn. The glinting lighter kept catching his gaze in the few, precious seconds he had to decide... Diggle had said that he wasn't a worse archer for being defeated and it seemed now was the time to prove it. He took a deep breath and aimed, firing on the exhale. The tiny lighter flew from Garfield's hand and landed several feet away. Oliver used the distraction to join Raines, pulling out the heavy blanket he'd brought up from his hideout stuffed between the belt that secured his quiver and his body. He through the thing mindlessly over his shoulder at the intended victim.

"Go," Oliver told Raines, who didn't wait to be asked twice. He pulled the blanket over his head and ran for the exit. To deter Garfield from following him, Oliver knocked another arrow onto his bow, pointing it straight at the firebug. The other man didn't even blink at it

"I told him we could save the building, but he got scared. He left me in there to die... but instead I was pulled out, comatose for months. Waking up and seeing... this, what was left of who I was... I almost wished I had died. Now it was his turn," Garfield told him. Oliver's grip on the string tightened, begging, praying he didn't have to let go, but he let Raines go without anymore fight.

"I'm not afraid to die," Garfield said calmly.

Oliver lowered the bow.

"No, you are afraid to live." It was a bit like looking into a mirror. "Let me get you out of here. Let me get you help."

Garfield nodded subtly, in acknowledgement.

"Thanks, but I'm already burned..."

Oliver's heart sped up as he caught the undercurrent in that statement. He was unsure what to do. Could this case bear another dead fireman, even if it was the one who had killed the others? On the other hand, could he interfere and force the man to live with his hate and self-loathing. Before he could do anything about it, he heard a thud as Garfield was whacked over the head with something heavy. As the man crumpled to the ground, he found Laurel and Tommy had made their way back into the club, presumably looking for him. They must have thought to grab the fire extinguisher to help them make their way, but clearly Laurel had found an additional use for it when she smashed it into the firebug's head. He wondered how he had missed their approach, even though he did notice that Laurel wasn't wearing her heels from earlier.

"I don't suppose you could help Tommy carry him outside, could you?", she asked him with a sheepish smile. Without waiting for a response, she turned and started scouting a way out of the building. He and Tommy exchanged a wary glance, particularly on Tommy's side, but eventually they both grabbed one side of Garfield Lynde and followed Laurel outside. One of pieces of steel construction nearly came down on top of them, throwing them to the ground for a moment. This certainly helped to hurry their way along. Once outside, they lay the unconscious man down in the space that formed between the parting group of guests. Oliver spotted Joanna first, making her way determinedly toward Garfield's prone body with a downright murderous look and rushed to intercept her.

He caught her against his body.

"Is it him?! It's him, isn't it?! He killed my brother! Let me go!"

"So you can become someone you hate?!", he questioned her quietly, but intensely.

"He killed Danny!", Joanna cried brokenly.

"And is murder how you think to honor him?... Then let me do it," Oliver suggested, earning several gasps and frowns. He played it over the top, but he needed her to face this choice, so he pulled another arrow from the quiver and aimed directly at the unconscious body. He felt his hand shake ever so slightly, but at this distance, even in this state, he couldn't miss. "I've killed before. One more dead man on my conscience won't make a difference. If this is what you want – what Danny and the other firemen would have wanted. Tell me and I'll let go of this string."

The crowd seemed to hush at his announcement, glancing between him and Joanna while he held Garfield's life hostage at the pointed end of an arrow. He could feel Laurel frown in his direction, but she kept quiet and waited for events to unfold. Joanna looked about as shocked now as the rest of them, confronted with the real possibility of murder in cold blood. He watched her swallow, contemplating. A part of her, still angry, still hurt, wanted to say it, but the more she looked at the burned and broken man – she looked up at him and corrected her thoughts to _men_ – before her, the more her resolve seemed to weaken. Her anger and her hatred fell away, leaving only the pain, but no thirst for vengeance. She shook her head and could visibly see the relief that went through the archer as his whole body relaxed.

He hadn't wanted to shoot.

There was a commotion at the other end of the crowd and Joanna saw the Hood's head shoot up. Red and blue lights were flashing from a short distance; the police had arrived. He hesitated for only a moment, while the crowd looked between him and the police and seemed to come to a decision. Instead of parting, they held their ground and the Hood gratefully used the time to make his exit.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

Helena followed the news closely. She couldn't remove her eyes from the scenes. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw the Hood emerge from the building with the firebug being carried between him and another guy.

Where had the Hood come from? She hadn't seen him enter.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Queen Mansion)_

When Oliver came down for breakfast the next morning, he was accosted with various hugs and questions about the night and his wellbeing. Even Thea seemed to have forgiven him for his Christmas faux pas, finally, in her worry over whether or not he'd died... again. He greeted them all with a smile and pretended not to notice the tension between his mother and Walter, the way they wouldn't quite look at each other.

"What's got you so chipper?", Thea asked, while he tried to decide whether he wanted a croissant or a biscuit. "Your club is briquettes."

"It was under construction before. Now it's just more under construction," Oliver waved the concern away.

"That's the spirit, Oliver. I'm sure it will be done when I'm back," Walter chimed up.

"Back?", Moira questioned, a little panicked. "Are you going somewhere?"

"Yes, well, our holdings in Australia and East Asia need some attention, I'm afraid. I'll be gone for a few weeks, maybe longer." His tone was sombre and the way he was looking at their mother for the first time had Thea and Oliver exchange glances. Apparently, there had been a fight they had been unaware of. Oliver wasn't entirely surprised at his own lack of awareness with what was going on in his life, but that his ever observant sister seemed equally befuddled was somewhat worrisome. Especially when Walter added: "Perhaps we can finally talk, after..."

His mother ducked her head and fidgeted.

Oliver meant to inquire, but they heard the front door open and close and were joint shortly after by Tommy, who got the same treatment as Oliver when he first showed his face at breakfast. However, when Moira invited him to breakfast, he declined softly, announcing that he'd only hoped to speak to Oliver very briefly. Frowning in surprise, Oliver followed him into the adjacent music room, where Tommy proceeded to pull out a document to show him. It was the order to close the clinic that Malcolm had kept throwing at his son for the past several weeks. Tommy's spot remained free of his signature and Oliver was a bit confused as to why his friend was showing him this.

"Dad finally graduated from douche to complete and utter jerk," Tommy grunted quietly. "He said he'd cut me off from my trust fund if I didn't sign, but I could take a job at Merlyn Global if I did and then gave me two days to decide. I, naturally, told him where he could stuff it."

"And did he...?" Oliver didn't want to pry, but he was concerned. Tommy's relationship with his father had never recovered after his mother's murder.

"I don't know; I haven't bothered checking. Technically, the deadline isn't due until tomorrow. I did pull out some cash yesterday to tide me over, but... well... I could use a job and... well, I found I quite enjoyed putting the firemen's benefit and the CNRI charity together. You know, plan a party instead of just being a riot at one... and I... thought..."

"Say no more. I need a manager for the day-to-day at the club anyway. I'm afraid I'm more of an absentee owner..."

Tommy smiled at him, even if he was a little confused. If it wasn't the club that kept Oliver occupied all the time, then what did he do when he wasn't home... Well, maybe he could find out.

"Thanks, man," he told his friend gratefully.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(CNRI)_

When Laurel walked into the office that morning, she was beyond relieved to find Joanna packing. And that was not something she ever thought she would think about one of her closest friends. But the lines of her face were less drawn and her shoulders less tense and she was finally willing to take a step back and mourn her brother's death with her parents. Joanna looked up when her friend approached and offered her a smile that Laurel all but soaked up.

"How are you feeling?", she asked.

"...I'm not sure," Joanna admitted. "After last night, after what I almost did and... Hurt for Danny, scared of myself, relieved that he was caught, but empty all at the same time. Does that make sense?"

"Sounds something like what I felt after Sara died."

Joanna nodded. She saw Detective Lance walk in, his face still slightly worried from when he had joined them at the club last night. He hadn't even pretended to go after the vigilante when he had finally made his way to them through the crowd. Laurel didn't look at him, but opened her arm and let him step into her.

"Yeah... I'm just gonna take some time to be with my parents. My mother is taking it so hard..."

"You take all the time you need. No pressure, no rush. We'll miss you, but we don't wanna see you again until you're ready," Laurel teased, coaxing another smile from her friend.

Then Joanna's eyes fell on a box that she'd placed on her desk that morning. She picked it up and handed it to Laurel. A short glance at the detective had him cock his head to the side.

"I'm not even here," he suggested.

"That's Danny's badge. My mother wanted the vigilante to have it. I know it's probably impossible, but..."

"I'll see to it that he gets it," Laurel promised at once, placing the box carefully in her drawer to fulfill her promise later. Even if she had to spend another three nights on the roof. Joanna nodded and made her way out. Laurel left her father's embrace to accompany. Quentin stayed behind a moment longer, his eyes falling onto the drawer with the badge.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(The Roof)_

This really was becoming a habit, he thought, as she joined him on the edge of the roof. For the first time since they'd started meeting there, they weren't hiding in the shadows, though, but rather sitting for all to see right at the edge, feet dangling in the air. Neither of them seemed afraid of falling, although Canary did eye his position a bit curiously before sitting down next to him. Their impromptu heart-to-heart after the fire at Stagg Chemical notwithstanding, he had avoided her long enough, it was time to open the channels of communication again. He wanted to lead with questions about the lack of cops at his home, her plans for his not-so-secret identity, but this time, perhaps it was his turn to open up. People kept telling him he should talk to someone. Maybe he could talk to her.

"I keep seeing it, the fight with the other archer. I almost feel the blows again, from the arrows, feel him tossing me around like a rag-doll. I lose myself in the memory and miss... I keep seeing him standing over me with an arrow cocked on his bow telling me I had failed the city. And what's worse is that he was right. I failed that night."

"You didn't tonight. You saved all those people at the club. And as for the Dark Archer, you saved five hostages... not too shabby?", she suggested carefully.

He looked at her, her tentative smile like a band-aid over a gaping wound. But for tonight, it was enough.

"Yes, not too shabby..."

They spent the night talking. About nothing, really. Just talking. He hadn't felt so light-hearted in years...

 **End of chapter 9!**

 **A/N:** The pieces keep shifting for Oliver, so he'll be moving on unsteady ground for a few chapters. I hope you enjoyed it. See you again next chapter!


	10. Chapter 10

****Guardian Angels****

 **Summary:** AU/ After five years in hell, Oliver Queen has returned home with only one goal – to save his city. Unfortunately, nobody told him he'd have to wait in line.

 **A/N:** Okay, for this chapter I mixed Vertigo and Unfinished Business together and put my own twist on it. I thought it wasn't a very good use of Count Vertigo, so... Enjoy.

 **hotkillerz:** It will be another couple of chapters of frustration for him, I'm afraid. I have a specific scenario in mind and Oliver will have some other worries first. Starting with this chapter...

 **highlander348:** Oliver probably knows that he'll get nowhere by asking her to reveal herself, but that doesn't mean that he won't try to trip her up or find out some other way.  
As for Helena, Oliver's problems with her are manifold. He sees a lot of himself in her (both his need for vengeance/justice and the undisciplined part of his pre-island self), while also having to deal with Canary's disapproval (with whom he's trying to maintain a professional/personal relationship) and keeps being confronted with Helena's determination to go after her father specifically. She's not a psychopath in my story, but she's still very much obsessed with getting her vengeance and, though she cares somewhat about innocents getting hurt (as with Moira), it doesn't stop her from actively putting them in danger. So, I figured Oliver would take a strictly disciplined approach with her, which also makes him an ass as you noticed. That's not just gonna go away, but he'll see he still relies on her. Their relationship will always be complex and I'm not sure she'd make a good permanent addition to Team Arrow, but who's to say she can't make her own way. I have some ideas...

 **Ferro Ignique:** I'm glad you (mostly) enjoy the story. While I try to catch my errors by reading through each chapter a few times, I sometimes don't think I see the forest for the trees. I do apologize for any mistakes and will try to look out for them more in the future.  
The story will divert a little more from the series starting with this chapter, though you will still recognize the basic plotlines as the AU keeps with the overall story arc of the Undertaking. Oliver will try - with renewed energy - to find out about Canary's identity, but I'm not going to make it too easy for him. As I mentioned in my answer to hotkillerz' review, I have a specific plot in mind in regards to his discovery - until then, he might also be a little distracted.  
Helena is a special case. Her character wasn't treated very well in the series. It made a point to force a difference between her and Oliver that I had difficulty swallowing (i.e. her being consumed by vengeance and him finding an outlet for it through his vigilantism). Though Helena's anger did seem more... personal, I suppose, while Oliver's was mitigated somewhat by his desire to _redeem_ his father. I don't think she'll fit into the team as a regular, but she certainly has potential to be something other than a "psycho ex-girlfriend", to quote the series.

 **Marcus S. Lazarus:** I just couldn't imagine a way in which Laurel wouldn't find out during the Dark Archer incident, other than writing her out of the story and in that case I might as well not have written the chapter at all. Making her a part of it, she couldn't not stumble across his identity, either due to Diggle's involvement or by taking off his jacket to take care of his wounds (she had seen his scars already during his going-to-jail party).  
I'm sorry to say that Ted Gaynor's part won't occur in the very near future. Due to changes in the plot I've made, I had to move that episode to a different part of the story. It will take place after Oliver learns of Laurel's identity, so it's still a few chapters away.  
As for the large paragraphs, I tend to have the exact opposite problem. I get annoyed at stories where paragraphs are barely two or three lines long. Still, I can certainly try to find a compromise. Please tell me how I did.

 **Chapter 10: Drug Wars**

The club was noisy. So loud and colorful, everything swam in a sea of lights. Bodies of every shape and size writhed with her on the dance floor. Drink still in one hand, she swayed hypnotically to the music, brushing suggestively against the hard shape pressed behind her. Hands on her hips kept her steady when she threatened to fall flat on her face, amber liquid spilling from her glass and onto the smooth dark floor. He pulled her back against him and she felt, she felt – She smirked at what she felt and made a stupid joke, she thought, or it might all have been in her head, but she pressed back against him.

Rubbing herself against him, hearing him groan appreciatively in her ear and whisper dirty encouragements made her feel so powerful, even as her heart sped up with a beat of trepidation. More of her drink spilled onto the floor when she turned around to look at him, but she couldn't make him out. Whenever she tried to settle her eyes on his face, he drifted out of focus as if her gaze shifted sideways, erratic and uncontrollable. Something in her gut clenched, but she couldn't bring herself to move away and when wrapped an arm around her and led her toward the exit she followed without question.

"My friend had a bit too much to drink," she heard him say to the bouncer. "I'll better drive her home."

 _Friend_ , she wondered as a blast of fresh air hit her. Was he her friend? Did she know him? She tried to focus on his face again, but all shapes were all fuzzy now; she could barely distinguish between what must be the face and what his sandy hair. Sandy... Friend, yes, friends drove each other home. She had come there with friends in her new car, she was sure of it. So he must have been with them, hadn't he been? She remembered – sort of – getting out of the car and walking a few paces to the club with her girls... Girls... He must have come in with them, this friend. How long had she known him?

Maybe she had met him at the party? But which party? Here at the club or... before? Where had she been before? Why had she celebrated? Her thoughts swirled without rhyme or reason around her head while he walked her to the parking lot. He was rummaging in her purse till he found her keys. The loud clicking-beeping noise of her car made her jump.

"Whoa, easy there, girl," he soothed with a dark chuckle, opening the door and helping her inside once they reached the car. She watched him dazedly walking around the car briskly. His eyes never left her. Even as she felt her head loll backward, she felt his gaze on her, but not on her face. Her guts twisted harder and her heartbeat picked up again and now he looked predatory instead of vaguely amused. She had not drunk that much, had she? She was scared now, but when she tried to get up only a twitch went through her body. "Easy, sweetheart. We're gonna have loads of fun..."

The smirk on his face was suddenly in focus and it scared her more than anything as he began to open the door and slid in. She wanted to call out, call for help, but she couldn't find her voice. Her throat was so dry and the words wouldn't form and then... and then he was suddenly yanked away from the car. There was a low metallic thud when his back his the neighboring car and she looked over to see another shape. Petite and dark with a speck of bright... halo? It moved against the man too and he groaned again, but this time it sounded pained. Some of that clenching reduced to satisfaction as her head drifted to the side and her world turned dark.

Black Canary dragged the spiky-haired scumbag away from the cabriolet and slammed him against a nearby SUV. She didn't wait for him to recover and instead rammed her knee into his gut. In a twisting moved she wrenched the car keys from his hand and catapulted him back onto the sidewalk. He fell on his back and skidded another foot along the floor to her satisfaction. The brat clearly didn't know when to quit because instead of staying down, he jumped back to his feet and tried to punch her as she approached. She tossed the keys into the car, blocked his attack with the other arm, then grabbed on to pull him into her forearm as she smashed it across his face. A quick shot to the gut and she slipped a foot behind his leg and pushed him over it. When he fell onto the sidewalk this time, she didn't give him time to recover. Instead she stepped onto him, so to speak. One foot on his crotch, she pressed down with a fraction of her weight and knew that he saw stars when he screeched at the pain.

"Now that I have your attention, I want the drugs," she told him pleasantly, one hand reaching down in a 'gimme' gesture. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw a couple of bouncers had noticed the commotion and came running toward the car. She also noticed with a certain amount of pride that they stopped once they got a good look at her. They remained wary and ready to intervene, but allowed the scene to play out for now, worried, perhaps, about her reputation on the streets. She had hospitalized quite a few of her opponents in her time. "The drugs, please," she said again.

"Bitch! I don't know what you're talk- aah!"

"Watch your mouth!", she warned acidly. "I know you roofied that poor girl, just look at her. It will be much easier for the doctors to counter what you gave her if they have a sample. Now give me the fucking drugs, or so help me..."

And she didn't finish that sentence, because all she had to do was step on him again and his scream probably alerted the entire neighborhood to his predicament. This time, instead of protesting, he pulled out a small, transparent plastic bag filled with innocent-looking white pills. She kept her hand open and made him sit up to place the bag into it, adding only a little pressure to the groin area to deter him from trying anything stupid. He grimaced and handed the bag over, so she grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him up, walking him back toward the nearest lamp post. She pointed at the bouncers, whose expression had changed from wary of her to disgusted at him.

"Now these gentlemen are going to keep you here till the police arrives. When they do, you will tell them everything – what these are, where you got them from, who you drugged with them. All of it, because if I have to come back for you..." She raised her knee to exert some more pressure on the sensitive area, not caring about his pained whine. "You won't ever be able to have sex again, do you understand?"

He nodded.

"Do you?!"

"Y-yes! Yes, g-goddammit, I g-get i-it!"

She nodded grimly and if she rammed her knee into his groin, well, it was all for good measure. She returned to the car and checked the young woman's pulse. Erratic, but still strong. That was good. She told one of the bouncers that she'd take her to Starling General and that he should call ahead so they knew to expect them. Pocketing the bag of pills, she jumped into the drivers seat, fishing the keys from the floor and getting on the road. Glancing back at the intended victim, she knew two things. That this would be the longest car ride of her life and that she needed to make a phone call. Keeping one hand on the steering wheel and occasionally glancing over at the unconscious brunette, she pulled the phone out of her leg pouch and called the only number programed into it.

"Yes," came the deep voice.

"Which one are you?"

"Which one do you need?"

She glanced at the other woman again and sighed.

"I'm taking Thea Queen to Starling General."

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Hideout)_

"Elbow a little higher, unless you want to strain something," Oliver instructed as he re-entered the foundry that night, finding Diggle on his assigned target practice. He had not been kidding when he said he intended to remedy his partner's lack of archery skills, so, in addition to all the close combat training they'd been going through (or beatings, as Diggle himself tended to call them), he had started to teach him how to use a bow.

His bodyguard didn't need the slaps-on-water method, because Diggle was more than strong enough to pull the string. His main issue right now was form; aim would come later. He kept his elbow too low and his stance was not lined up well, thus overexerting the muscles he used. Oliver put down his own bow and walked over to adjust his friend's stance.

"Now, just let go," he told him.

Diggle opened the three fingers that were holding the string how Oliver had shown him and the string snapped back into place, making a cracking sound. The vibration kept the string moving and shifting for a little longer as Diggle observed it. There had been no arrow on the string after the veteran had nearly shot Oliver in the leg during their first training session by accidentally letting go. The vigilante had declared that they'd graduate to armed bows when the appropriate position had gone over into Diggle's muscle memory and he could move with the bow as well as he could without it.

"Better, but you still need to work on your posture. You'll just tear a muscle if you don't keep your elbow up," Oliver announced amusedly.

"Yeah, yeah, you laugh. I bet it took you just as long to learn."

"Longer," Oliver admitted readily. "But it was time well spent."

He zipped open his jacket and pulled out a folder that he waved in front of Diggle's face. The former soldier snatched it out of his partner's hand.

"I take it you didn't shake down some mob boss tonight..."

"Well," Oliver replied with some smugness. "I passed by the precinct on my way back. Black Canary told me that she didn't intend to tell the police about my secret, but... it's time to even the playing field... So I got her file."

Diggle nodded, impressed. It wasn't a bad plan. Since she seemed to have a contact in the police department, they likely knew something about her that could help them figure out who she is. Then again, that same information could have been removed from the file by her contact to protect her. The bodyguard flipped idly through the pages. Some data about height, eye color (presuming she didn't wear colored contacts), weight estimation, body type.

He also found speculation on training background, which included an impressive number of martial arts from all over the world. He glanced at Oliver and wondered, not for the first time, who taught the billionaire how to fight. Granted, he'd been trying to survive on an island among killers – that much he had told him – but now it made him wonder where Black Canary could have found such diverse training environments.

He pressed a little further and found something of an activity report. Witness statements by police officers and civilians alike placed her in various locations around the country and even some more exotic ones abroad. She had apparently traveled quite extensively before settling in Starling City. Whatever had drawn her here; perhaps there was a Mr Canary that had finally made her stop moving? As his eyes flew over the data, and he was surprised there was so much considering they still called her WIB (Woman in Black) in the file, he suddenly noticed something that threw his mind for a loop. His frown must have shown on his face because Oliver came closer to read over his shoulder.

"This can't be right, Oliver," he told his friend.

"What's wrong?"

"According to this, she was first spotted in Central City in May-"

"Yeah, and?"

"In 1976."

"What?!" Now Oliver looked at the file with renewed interest. He hadn't had time to look at it at the precinct and he only glanced at it briefly when he saw Diggle frown. It had seemed straightforward enough; all that travel accounted for her composite fighting style, but he hadn't paid attention to specific dates. After all, it didn't matter since she was here now. Except, from what Diggle said, the dates mattered very much indeed. "That can't be right."

"It says so right here," Diggle told him, pointing at the information. "She was active from 1976 to 1984, spotted in various places around the world. The last couple of years she was mostly seen in Starling City until she just disappeared mid-1984. Wasn't seen again until last year. According to this... she would have to be in her, what? Forties? Or fifties?... You've seen her up close more often than me, but she seemed closer to thirty to me."

Oliver nodded absently. A copy-cat? Someone who had stumbled on or researched the original Woman in Black and had decided to take up the mantle at seeing the state Starling City was reduced to. Suddenly, his theory of her being a cop became even more likely. That way, she would have had access to these files, maybe even heard stories of the time the other Woman was active in Starling from some of the older cops at the precinct.

Otherwise where had she gotten the information from. When he had first done an Internet research on the mysterious female vigilante he had struck out. Before he could share his thoughts with Diggle, the phone rang. He pulled it out and looked at it for a moment. He and Diggle exchanged a glance. The timing of that woman was eerie.

"Yes," he answered simply. Had she heard of his break-in at the precinct? Did she know they had her file? He had been so careful to not even alert the cops to his presence.

"Which one are you?"

He frowned, surprised.

"Which one do you need?"

There was a beat of silence and a sigh. His heart quickened. There was something wrong, he could feel it. Her answer actually made his heart stop altogether. When it finally resumed beating, he wanted to throw the phone across the room in anger, but instead he held it pressed against his ear.

"Meet me on the roof there," he told her.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Starling General)_

The police was already there when he arrived. So was his mother, though she was alone because Walter had left last week already. They hadn't heard much from him, except that he had landed safely in Melbourne and that he was busy. Judging by her mother's expression when she'd referred that message, she only half believed it. It sounded like an inside joke, albeit not a funny one. Oliver pushed the thoughts from his mind as he rushed through the hallway to join his mother.

She was talking quietly with a doctor in a white coat. Detective Lance was with her, taking notes but keeping quiet, letting the worried mother take precedence in asking whatever questions she needed answered. He was the first to spot Oliver and the two exchanged a wary nod, obviously Laurel had told him that she'd talked to Oliver about Sara's origins. He hadn't had much contact with the detective since the night the assassin came to his room, but there almost seemed to be a quiet truce between them now.

Oliver refocused his attention on his mother. He tapped her shoulder carefully so as not to startle her. When she turned to him, she immediately engulfed him in a hug. Looking past her, he could see through a small window in the door before which they were standing. Thea, whose face was pale and drawn, lying in an impersonal hospital bed that seemed to dwarf her.

She was sweating and shivering from the effects of withdrawal, or maybe from whatever the doctors had given her to stabilize her and its interaction with the drugs in her system. Oliver cursed inwardly; he should have never left her birthday party to go break into the precinct. If he had been there, he might have noticed her leaving. The thought troubled him as he didn't know why she had left in the first place or how she had ended up at the club.

"We're analyzing the sample of the drug your daughter's... rescuer provided now to determine the further course of treatment and if there are any longterm effects to worry about."

"What do you mean; it wasn't GHB?", Oliver inquired, surprised.

"Ah, no, there seems to be a new drug on the market. We've had a couple of victims come in in the last couple of weeks, but this is the first time we got our hands on the product."

Moira frowned.

"How have the other victims fared?"

The doctor shuffled a bit.

"I won't lie to you. They were in a severally altered state of mind when they were brought in. Some of them seemed to have been overdosed and have gone into a coma. They are still here or have been transferred to other hospitals. The others made a full recovery from the drugs, physically anyway. I will recommend counseling for Ms Queen once we reach that stage to address remaining psychological trauma, but for now that is rather getting ahead of ourselves. So far your daughter continues to drift in and out of consciousness, so it's too early to determine what will happen."

Moira sighed, turning her attention back to Thea lying in that bed. She couldn't believe her little girl had been roofied and was now fighting for her life – or her consciousness – in a hospital. Her heart constricted when she thought of her own role in Thea's flight from her own party. The look on her face when she saw Malcolm and her talking quietly in the hallway. It spelled out exactly what she thought they had been doing.

Malcolm had a way of getting too close, an old habit that he continued to enjoy because he knew how uncomfortable it made her. And she refused to tell him off because that would mean admitting that he made her uneasy and she'd learned that she couldn't allow herself that weakness while participating in the Undertaking. She had formed a hard outer shell and an inner coldness that protected her, but she could see Thea's fear and outrage when Malcolm left them. The heated words she had thrown at Moira's feet afterward and the way she had stormed off without giving her the chance to reply should have been a warning sign. She clearly should have waited in giving her the car keys until after the party...

"How long till the forensic report comes back?", Detective Lance interrupted the drawn silence.

"We should have the results in the morning. I will make sure to have a copy sent to the SCPD."

"Thank you."

"Hold on," Oliver protested. "Isn't that a violation of my sister's patient confidentiality?"

"Your sister's blood work is protected by patient confidentiality, but not the drug analysis itself, Mr Queen. Also... the police has already taken their own blood samples for analysis," the doctor clarified.

"Blood samples?", Moira startled.

"We have to convict her attacker somehow, since we can't call the vigilante to the stand, now can we?", Detective Lance countered. "Also, there's some interest in what your daughter was doing at a club at that hour and how she got in. She may be a legal adult since midnight, but she's still too young to drink."

Oliver grit his teeth.

"Hasn't Thea suffered enough?", he asked bitingly and finally, Lance turned his attention fully on him.

"If it were up to me, yes, because this probably convinced her never to drink again in a more effective manner than any police or court action ever could, but it's not up to me. The law is still valid and apparently there's someone else in the department who isn't overly fond of the Queens... Shocker!"

Moira opened her mouth, but Quentin just raised his hands. There was nothing more to say. Even if he wasn't after the younger Queen himself, her family had gotten away with enough over the years that he wasn't keen on helping her either. Laurel was the Good Samaritan in their family. Who knew, she had represented one Queen for multiple counts of murder, maybe she'd represent the other for the underage drinking charge.

He honestly didn't care either way at the moment, particularly as he had his own problems with his daughter. The technician had called him stone cold and he had to admit that trying to use his daughter was rather calculating. He just hoped she would see that he was only trying to do his job and protect her and the city from a dangerous criminal. He cast one last glance at Queen, still not entirely convinced that he was innocent, before he excused himself.

Oliver and Moira stared after the detective as he left, then made their way into Thea's room. She wasn't awake and even if she had been, his mother told him that she had been mostly unresponsive when the doctors tried to talk to her – or so she had been told. Oliver pulled the chair in the corner closer to the bed and let his mother settle in. She gently grasped hold of Thea's clammy hand and held it carefully between her own. Brushing a few strands of damp her from her pale, sweaty forehead, Moira could feel tears sting her eyes.

"She'll be okay, mom, you'll see. Thea is the strongest girl I know; she'll pull through," Oliver tried to reassure her with a hand on her shoulder. He saw his mother nod, but she wouldn't look at him. Her eyes wouldn't leave Thea's troubled face and he knew she didn't fully believe it.

"At least they've got him," she mumbled. "The bastard who... Thank god that vigilante was there when Thea needed her. He won't hurt anyone else."

"Yeah," Oliver agreed quietly, thinking back on the last message he'd given her. His eyes went up to the ceiling for a moment as if he expected to be able to see through several floors and onto the roof. He felt torn between wanting to remain here to support his mother and look after Thea and wanting to go talk to her to find out what she knew about this drug. Anger burned in him at what might have happened to Thea if Black Canary hadn't been there by chance to save her.

His stomach clenched tight as he thought of this drug flooding the market and all the victims it would cause. He hadn't even felt his hand clench on his mother's shoulder until he felt her soothing caress. He let go of her as if his hand had been burned, mumbling apologies that she brushed away with a smile. She suggested he get some fresh air to clear his head; it could be a long wait. Oliver nodded, thankful the decision was made for him.

Instead of heading down to the ground floor exit, he hurried up to the roof access door. A small frown crossed his face when he noticed it had already been broken open and the attached alarm tricked so as not to go off. He walked carefully onto the flat roof, but his tension dissipated when he saw Diggle standing opposite Canary. They seemed to have a pleasant conversation and Oliver wondered if he had brought up the file they'd found. He hoped not, because not only was that not his top priority right now, but they also didn't know what to make of it yet. They needed time to sort it out and a plan of attack.

"Green, right? Forest environment! I can't believe I didn't see it sooner!", Black Canary exclaimed, an ironic hand touching her forehead as if frustrated with her own lack of insight.

"You and me both... I mean come on, it doesn't take a genius to figure out one week after he got back home, Robin Hood showed up," Diggle agreed. "How anyone could be so blind..."

"Hmm, people believe what they want to believe. And the heroic vigilante clashes with his image as a juvenile womanizer, I guess," she mused, then looked up at him. "But I rather suppose that was all part of your brilliant plan, just like having Diggle run around in your Hood."

"It worked, didn't it? Threw everyone off the scent."

Black Canary snorted. She chose not to mention that she and Ted and even her father, separately, had mistrusted the simple solution, even though part of her had hoped for it to be true. Now was not the time to discuss that, or the precariously tipped balance that her recent discovery of his secret had placed them in. Though, if they weren't careful, it could all come crashing down on them very soon.

"How's Thea?", Diggle wanted to know right away.

"The doctors don't really know yet."

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"What happened?"

"I noticed it mostly by chance. A guy escorting a clearly inebriated young woman, but there was something off. The way he could drape her body into the seat like a doll... so I-"

"No, I mean with the drugs. This problem has been around for weeks and there's been nothing but radio silence from you! Why didn't you tell me?!"

"What, on the off chance that your underage sister might get her drink spiked?!"

"Kids," Diggle tried to calm them down, but Oliver was already getting in Canary's face about the callous comment. Understandable, but counterproductive. There was an energy running between them that almost scared him more than their obvious anger at one another. Perhaps it was the tension from their suddenly uneven positions. Evening out the playing field, Oliver had called it, and if he kept with the game analogy, Diggle had to concede that Black Canary had scored on them. Irritating her now was not in their best interest. Then again, there always seemed to be an undercurrent with these two; he could tell even when he wasn't there with them, but it certainly was more noticeable and more impressive (and frightening) when he was.

"It's not like you've been all that available recently," she added later. Oliver, taken aback, stumbled away from her. When she reached out, Diggle moved to intercept her, but she cast him a look that told him she'd throw him off the roof if he didn't have the good grace to stay out of it. She was with Oliver in two steps, a hand on his arm turning him back around toward her. The hand shifted toward his cheek, but she moved it away when he flinched. Carefully removing her glove, she reached out again and this time he let her. Oliver knew he should take stock of her hand, whether it was old or young, scarred or maybe tattooed – anything that would give them an edge, but instead his mind calmed under its gentle, calloused touch. "I don't blame you. I threw you into a shark tank... or a fire, more appropriately, and left you there to fend for yourself despite knowing you were struggling. I should have been there for you instead, but I figured... if I was going to drag you into this drug case, I... I-"

"You needed to be sure I was ready... I was not."

"You were in the end, though", she asked. "And... you're doing this – I can see it in your eyes, so you have to be." She brushed a thumb over his cheek before slipping her hand back into the glove. "I don't know much, only that for the last couple of weeks small time street dealers have been handed a few free samples to test the product. If they know by whom, they're not talking. And that's despite the fact that two of them are being treated in the same hospital as their victims."

Diggle's eyes went wide.

"You drugged them with their on narcs?"

She turned to him.

"No, I needed them able to talk, so I threatened to burn their narcs instead. When they didn't talk, or couldn't, I burned them anyway and broke a few bones for good measure to discourage future investments in narcotics."

"Point is, you're getting nowhere fast," Oliver summed up.

"No, none of them seem to have any direct contact with the seller. They suddenly find burner phones ringing in their pockets directing them to the pick up location. If they want more they have to deposit money there and they'll find their drugs twenty-four hours later in its place."

Diggle whistled. That was a well thought-out plan. No contact meant no one had any useful information, except maybe...

"What about the pick up sites?"

"That was my first try, but they must have someone watching the surroundings, because even after I got one of the dealers to drop of his money for me and got in position, nobody showed up."

"Not as stealthy as you think?", Oliver teased slightly.

"At least I don't dress like a folklore character who's sleeping rough,", she shot back and he was tempted, so tempted to make a quip about her looking good for her supposed age, but he managed to bite down on it. "And I figured you can go places I can't, talk to people I don't..."

There was a meaningful pause, in which both Diggle and Oliver raised their eyebrows, making her sigh.

"I recognize a Bratva tattoo when I see one, Oliver," she informed him.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Queen Consolidated)_

The next day found Moira at the office, despite having wanted to curl back into the uncomfortable chair at Thea's bedside when her CFO had approached her. She had spent the night with her baby, but even she had to admit that she couldn't do anything except sit there and wait and seeing Thea that way in her powerless state had hurt more than leaving her side for work.

She had taken over some of the day-to-day duties that Walter usually performed, not because Queen Consolidated needed her to, but because it made her feel closer to him and now she was practically immersing herself in them. She wondered what that said about her as a mother. Not that she was particularly successful at working either; images of Thea's pale, sickly face flashed through her mind frequently and broke her concentration.

She had read and re-read the same sentence on the report about the development of Unidac Industries after their company's acquisition of them about as often as she could without crossing her eyes. So she took off her glasses and rubbed her hands tiredly over them, because she still couldn't recall what it actually said. The steady beeping of the various monitors attached to Thea had kept her up most of the night and only let her sleep fitfully once she finally did, but this was more than tiredness eating away at her. And it was more than just Thea's situation either, though she pushed all else to the periphery. A soft knock on the door made her look up to find Malcolm hovering unusually wary at the entrance. His face was tight. She would say he looked worried if she thought he had a heart to worry with.

"Rough night?", he joked, but it was without mirth as he approached. "I was just at the hospital to see Thea... Moira, I'm so sorry for what she went through."

Moira's heart stopped for a second, her mind caught on wondering how much Malcolm knew... about Thea. He walked over to sit down opposite to her and grasp her hand. She wanted nothing more than to pull it away, but she had a part to play yet. God, she wished it was over already!

"This is exactly why the Undertaking is so important. So that never again will any mother have to suffer like you are suffering right now. We have to remove the growing cancer before it spreads throughout the city," he told her with conviction. She wondered if he thought that those words would make her feel better. She wouldn't put it past him.

"Well, I wish I could help, but I can't even finish this stupid report right now," she admitted, finally managing to pull her hand away in order to wave the document in front of him. "I keep seeing... everything. Thea, Robert, Oliver – I almost lost them all and Walter..."

"You have sacrificed so much for this Undertaking. More than any of us, perhaps. That's why I know I can count on you to go the rest of the way," Malcolm told her sincerely. She was almost sickened by his compliment, but she managed to keep the bile rising in her throat at bay. Only just. He possessed a serenity in his conviction that she knew was eerily attractive, seductive even. It was what had first drawn Robert in, she wagered, and now that he was gone, she had to contend with it to keep her goal in mind and her family safe.

Moira almost laughed. There was no safety for her family if the last few weeks or even years had proven anything. She'd lost her first husband, her son had almost been taken from her three times by her count and now her daughter had been drugged and her husband wouldn't talk to her... If she believed in such things, she would say that their family was cursed!

"And Walter backed off, just like you promised," Malcolm went on with an approving nod. "No need for our... associate to get involved them."

"No," she said firmly. "I told you I would handle it."

Although, in the end, she supposed, she had really not handled it and Walter had left because he couldn't stand looking at his wife anymore. Before Malcolm could answer, a buzzing sound from her phone interrupted them. She picked it up from the table and gasped at the caller id. Showing it to Malcolm, she gently but firmly ushered him out the door.

"I'm here if you need me, Moira, you know that," he murmured at the end.

A sickening thought nestled itself into her head at that, wondering if he had something to do with this, but, given the caller ID, she could only nod distractedly as she closed the door and picked up.

"Walter," she said, her voice hardly above a whisper. She could feel desperation clawing at her insides and fought to keep it in.

"Moira... I just heard about Thea. Is everything alrig- stupid question, of course it isn't, but... how is she?"

A hand raised to cover her mouth to hide her sob.

"She... She is stable, for now, but the doctors don't know yet what has been affected and... They're analyzing the drug; it's something new and th-they d-don't know how..."

"Moira, it'll be alright. You'll see, Thea is a fighter, she'll pull through."

Moira chocked.

"Th-that's what Oliver said – he came straight to the hospital..."

"He's a smart lad and Thea will be fine. Listen, I'm on my way to the airport now. I'll get the first flight-"

"No." The word had come out before Moira could even think about it, but despite wanting to have him here, it would be a terrible idea for him to come back at this time. Her heart was beating fast in her chest at Malcolm not so subtle reminder of the fate that awaited him here if he snooped and she couldn't lose another husband. "No, stay where you are."

"Moira..."

"No, nothing's changed, Walter. You can't be here right now."

"Because you won't tell me anything," he spat angrily and it felt like a punch in the gut to her, but he was right to be angry. She kept secrets from him and she kept avoiding him even when she'd agreed to tell him.

"Because you can't know anything," she corrected. "Your life is already in danger, I won't have you endanger my family too."

There was dead silence on the other end of the line and Moira regretted the words as soon as they came out. She hadn't wanted to guilt-trip him, but if it was the only way to keep him safe, then she would use whatever was at her disposal. She had no intention of losing the man she loved to Malcolm's... associate. And as soon as Thea was alright, she'd put her on a flight to Melbourne to stay with Walter – call it a semester abroad or whatever it took. If Thea would be alright...

"I thought I was part of your family," Walter told her tiredly. He sounded resigned and heartbroken and Moira only just realized what her words had implied. She meant to respond, to reassure him it was only a poor choice of words and that she didn't mean it, but was greeted only with a click and the line went dead as her heart shattered.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(SCPD)_

She hated doing her night job during the day, though maybe not nearly as much as Ted hated it, but she didn't have the energy or the will to get this done yesterday and it shouldn't wait any longer. So, letting herself fall down from the basement window, she dropped into the SCPD's file room. Taking a deep breath, she oriented herself for a second. She remembered that her father had brought her here under a pretense once to show her the layout. He had even drawn her a map, but he had always insisted that she contact him for files first.

They both knew that was not a viable option as it would arouse too much suspicion if he showed too much interest in cases other than his. Not to mention that she was still trying to avoid her father a bit over what happened with the other archer. Even though she had told him that a masked associate of the Hood had taken him off her hand and Ted had, thankfully, corroborated her story, she had seen in his eyes that he remained suspicious. Not that she could blame him; she hadn't exactly given him a lot of reasons to think she would turn the Hood in either way. At least he seemed to buy Oliver's hood-swapping alibi...

" _You're not moving. I can hear that you're not moving,"_ Ted was whispering urgently in her ear. _"Remember that your uniform is meant for the night-shift. It does rather give in the eye during the day."_

She exhaled slowly.

"I'm in and I've got the room to myself."

" _For now. Let's not find out what would happen if a uniform strolled in right now."_

Fair point, she supposed. She shook her head to clear it of the distracting thoughts and headed for the vice section. Pulling out the small map her father had drawn her, she identified the drawers most likely to contain current case files, such as the new date rape drug that was flooding the market. She went through the files quietly, but quickly, but found no trace of anything relating to Thea Queen or the drug itself. She wondered if the drug analysis hadn't come in yet.

It was possible, she supposed, what with police crime labs always being beyond busy and considered paying a visit to the hospital lab, which might have been a little quicker. Before she could do anything else, the door to the file room opened behind her. Laurel ducked quickly behind some of the drawers, but she could hear the tell-take sound of a gun being pulled from its holster.

She had been spotted.

"Come out," a confident female voice called out. She heard steps accompanying the voice, coming closer. The cop was not calling for reinforcements. Laurel liked her confidence, especially since it worked in her favor. She could take one officer, even if she had a gun. So she raised herself to her feet, hands innocently in the air. She didn't recognize the other woman, but then she didn't know every police officer in the city. Laurel gave her a quick once-over.

She was a detective, judging by the civilian clothing. Long dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, her dark lipstick was set off by her hazel skin, unlike Laurel who looked like a zombie wearing it, though that was rather the point. The other woman was slim, fit and clearly not intimidated by finding one of Starling City's notorious vigilantes within the confines of the police station.

She scoffed, in fact.

"You've got balls, I'll give you that." The detective managed to make it sound like a compliment and an insult at the same time, making Laurel smirk appreciatively.

"So do you," she countered, taking a leisurely step forward. The officer's grip on her gun tightened and she shuffled backward. "Or not."

Laurel was a bit disappointed.

"Stay back," the detective ordered. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for your file on the Thea Queen case," she answered sincerely. "I dropped her off at the hospital and wanted to follow up."

"There must be a nest," the woman muttered, making Laurel raise her eyebrows. "You're not the first person to ask about that today."

Laurel's mind raced. Judging by her reaction and the lack of mayhem, it had been Oliver Queen rather than the Hood who'd come for the file.

" _It makes sense,"_ Ted murmured in her ear, clearly following her line of thought. _"No one would question the concerned brother asking for information on the drug that hospitalized his sister."_

Laurel nodded to herself.

"And what did you tell Mr Queen?"

The officer's eyes snapped up at her, but Laurel only rolled her eyes. It was hardly a leap.

"Well, I'm not about to tell you... Turn around, hands on your head."

" _I'm giving your father the heads up, so he can create a distraction,"_ Ted announced quietly.

"Detective..."

"McKenna Hall."

"Detective Hall, I'm trying to help-"

"You can help by coming quietly. This city is enough trouble without people taking the law into their own hands."

"It's hardly any different than the number of officers who make headlines by pretending _to be_ the law. I don't see the rest of you rushing to arrest and charge them," Laurel shot back darkly, but didn't move to follow Detective Hall's orders. The woman reacted exactly as she expected, moving closer again with the gun pointed directly at Laurel's face and if she were anyone else, waving the thing right in front of her may actually make her comply. But Laurel knew that the only chance she had of disarming her was if she came within range.

The detective's face was tight, clearly angered by the accusation, but she kept quiet knowing that Laurel had a point. The system was rigged in favor of bad officers and too often good officers stayed silent or even faced threats and discrimination for speaking up. When the door was suddenly opened and Detective Hall distracted, Laurel deviated the gun from her face, pressing her other hand into the right nerves running along the arm to force the woman to let go. The weapon clattered onto the floor and Hall was so startled, she didn't even put up a fight when Laurel pulled her close and hit her over the head with a baton. The last thing she saw was likely Laurel's father coming in and making a show of reaching for his gun, before she sunk unconscious to the ground.

"Dear God, L- Canary, what are you doing here?", he whispered in a panic. "I thought we agreed..."

"I'm not risking you attracting suspicion to yourself," Laurel retorted.

"So instead you break into a police station. Baby, are you insane? What were you looking for?"

"Thea's case file and information on the drugs."

"The lab hasn't gotten back to us yet. The doctor said in the morning, but something must've come up. But from the analysis of previous victims, Vice suspects someone with intimate knowledge of brain chemistry and access to prescription mind-altering drugs."

Laurel frowned.

"I took a peak right before responding to the call that you'd drop somebody off at the hospital," Quentin admitted.

"Yes... No! I mean, prescription drugs means what? Hospitals, practices, psych wards?"

"Pretty much all of the above," Quentin admitted and listened to Laurel curse.

"That's one freaking big suspect pool."

"Yeah, well, could you worry about that from your headquarters. I'll see what else I can dig up – discretely – but you need to get out of here," her father whispered urgently, already pulling her toward the window through which she'd come in. Then stopped in front of it to pull her back around. "Ah, just one more thing..."

His eyes fell on the baton that was still in her hand. Laurel grimaced. She knew he was right, but she didn't relish the thought of hitting her own father. Still, she raised her weapon without protest or hesitation and that just made her feel guiltier.

When Quentin woke up again, McKenna Hall was kneeling over him and a small CSI team was canvassing the room. There was a medic shining a light in his eyes to test his pupils' reaction. Quentin batted the annoying little flashlight away and thankfully, the medic left him alone afterward. He raised a hand to his throbbing head and came into contact with gauze. He flinched and groaned when the slightest bit of pressure sent a spike of pain through his entire nervous system. McKenna helped him up into a sitting position carefully.

"Are you alright, Detective Lance?", she questioned softly.

"God, these damn vigilantes are getting bolder," he complained instead of answering.

"Yeah, they don't even knock anymore," McKenna joked, drawing a chuckle from him against his will – or his better judgment as it drew another groan from his mouth.

"Ugh, don't make me laugh, please. What did she want in here?", he wondered aloud.

"...She came for the Queen file," McKenna answered absentmindedly.

"But... Queen was cleared of being the vigilante," Quentin replied, purposefully misunderstanding. He'd been doing this long enough to know when someone was baiting him. And, in fact, McKenna let out a small, almost imperceptible sigh of relief as she eyed his confusion out of the corner of her eye.

"Thea Queen's, sir. She wanted to know about the new drug."

"Did she get it?", he asked.

"It would seem so," one of the CSI guys answered, joining them. "The file's gone."

"No, it's on my desk. I pulled it out earlier for... well, Oliver came to ask because of what happened to his sister. I had to admit that we don't have much, but we're working on it. And I told him to let us handle it."

But when they went to check on her desk, the file wasn't there.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(CNRI)_

After her misadventure at the police station during her lunch break had left her hungry and still without any concrete information on the new drug, Laurel had quickly shrugged out of her uniform at their headquarters and gotten herself a sandwich to go. She hadn't realized how hungry she really was until she'd basically inhaled half of it already. Laurel sighed and slowed down, turning her thoughts to the events at the police station.

Detective Hall had indicated that Oliver had gone to retrieve the police report himself and it made her wonder why he hadn't gone to his Russian friends instead. They had the right connections in the underworld after all and would have access to people the police didn't. Then again, perhaps his time in the Bratva had concluded when he'd made it off the island and if he had finally escaped them, Laurel couldn't fault him for wanting to stay as far away from them as humanely possible.

"Almost back at work," she said into the phone, once she realized Ted was calling.

" _Yeah, well, I skirted around Starling General's firewalls again, but apparently they must have noticed our friend's intrusion and have upped their cyber-security. If I couldn't get in before, I certainly won't now. So unless you wanted to ask him for another favor..."_

"I'll just go myself tonight. I don't think I could take the grumbling and whining right now," she snorted quietly into the phone as she entered her building. "Find me an in?"

" _On it now. I'm glad you got out of that mess at the police station."_

Laurel sighed gently.

"Yeah, thanks for calling in the cavalry," she admitted grumpily. She knew her father would find a way to pick up their conversation where they'd left it at the police station eventually. "I'm surprised he bothered going to the police though."

" _I'm sure you can ask him later,"_ Ted suggested, knowing instinctively that she wasn't referring to her father. _"After all, he'll have no more on the drug than we, given the police is fishing in the dark as well. He'll turn up at the hospital too."_

Laurel hummed in agreement.

"Especially since you'll be telling him to..."

The line clicked and went dead, but Laurel smirked, knowing he would do what they needed. She put her phone back into her purse and hurried up the last few steps and into the office space. At first her gaze fell on Joanna's desk. She was still unused to seeing it empty, but letting someone else fill it had seemed wrong so soon after what happened. Still, their new colleague would join them to do her pro bono year with CNRI and soon the desk would be piled high with files and folders again.

She went over to her desk, only to find herself face to face with the object of her quarry. Oliver sitting on her desk made her stop dead in her tracks for a moment, even though his smile was friendly and inviting. He got up from her desk immediately to offer her the space she needed to put down her stuff and waited for her to join him. Laurel swallowed a little, told herself she could do this – she had been doing this for a few weeks now – and walked over.

"Oliver, " she greeted nervously. "I-I heard what happened to Thea from Tommy; I'm so sorry. How is she doing? Has she woken up?"

She hoped he would chalk up her nerves to the desperate situation with his sister and maybe the Christmas party and the firefighter benefit.

"Still no change," he informed her with a shake of his head. "But I may need a lawyer again."

"I'm sorry, I don't handle paternity suits," she quipped at him with a smile, earning herself an amused scoff.

"No, it's about Thea. Her... situation is actually what I'm here about, sort of."

She frowned at him and cocked her head to the side curiously.

"When your father was there to talk to the doctor, he... he mentioned that some people... they'd want to use this opportunity to oust Thea for being at the club and drinking."

Laurel was taken aback. She hadn't heard about that. Anger flared in her at the hypocritical opportunism that came with the very real crime wave that had begun to sweep through their city. Oliver could see the change in her demeanor from concerned and confused to outright angry and leaned back a little to get a better look. He had come here for her advice, but he hadn't expected her to apparently take such personal offense to it.

"As if being roofied, dragged off to her car and almost raped isn't enough, now she's in the hospital fighting for her life and sanity and they're preparing the rake? Sounds like a new form of slut-shaming to me," the lawyer huffed angrily. At Oliver's amused look, she went on. "Don't get me wrong, Thea shouldn't have been allowed in that club and she sure as hell shouldn't have been drinking, but I'm pretty sure this is just someone's way of making a name for themselves as being tough on crime and Thea is the unfortunate name to their campaign."

"Campaign... you think someone is trying to gain favor for the upcoming mayoral election."

"It's nothing new. Convictions and sentences tend to go up in election periods, sadly," she informed him. "I'll ask my father to see where this is coming from, but I can't promise we can change this. If they are going to run for mayor..."

"I know. Thanks for trying."

She nodded.

"Of course... If you or Thea need anything, I'm here," she promised him. That poor girl. She hadn't known Thea very long and if the tabloids were to be believed, she was a rather shallow and materialistic girl, but she had also lost her brother and father five years ago. She didn't deserve to be saddled with someone else's political agenda to serve as a scapegoat for this city's sins. She squeezed Oliver's arm softly and without even noticing, until his hand came up to clasp hers gratefully. She looked up at him then, recognizing the intensity of his gaze even if she didn't quite know what to expect from it. A moment later, he let go and her hand fell from his arm almost as if they'd both been burned.

"Right, I'll... uh," Oliver started, clearing his throat. "...let you return to work. I'm sure you've got more important things to do than to chat with me... Uhm, thanks again for... ah...Thanks."

He stumbled backward away from her and somehow his hand must have gotten caught on the handle of her desk drawer because he nearly pulled the entire drawer out with his movement. Laurel fought a laugh; for someone who moved with the grace of a hunter, he seemed so clumsy right then. Some of the content spilled from her drawer at the hard pull and Oliver scrambled to collect it immediately, all the while muttering apologies.

Laurel allowed herself a soft chuckle and joined him. Her approach must have startled him, because he tried to get up in a hurry with her stuff and banged his head against the drawer. This time he sat down on the floor and simply frowned at his rotten luck, grumbling under his breath. She knelt down to take a look at his head, batting his hand away as it rubbed at the sore spot. Thankfully, it seemed to be nothing more than a slight bruise.

"Today isn't going your way, is it?", she asked when she found him looking at her again and started helping him pick up her stuff to distract herself from the pair of bright eyes boring holes into her head.

"That obvious, huh?", he asked jokingly. A second attempt at righting himself worked out much better than the previous one. Injury-free, as it were.

"Only a lot," she teased him as they put down everything on her desk. She could sort it back into the drawer later. Something caught his eye; his hand disappeared into the drawer and pulled out the velvet box that still resided there. He opened it to find Danny's badge. His fingers softly stroked over the cold metal.

"Joanna gave this to you?", he asked quietly. "Her brother's badge?"

"It's not for me. I promised her to get it to the Hood, but I don't exactly fancy spending another three nights camped out on the roof, so it's just been sitting there until I can figure something out."

"The roof?", he asked, carefully, and Laurel had to give him credit; he was a good actor.

She waved him off.

"Long story. I do take it home with me, in case... uh... he turned up there once," she admitted, trying to sound guilty. So she ducked her head, but peeked up at him to see his reaction. She saw something for a split-second, but it was quickly overtaken by a deliberate frown in her direction.

"He was in your- are you alright? Your father has people stationed outside, right?", he questioned her with what would sound like real concern if she didn't know it to be an act. She placed a hand on his shoulder in reassurance anyway. Before she answered, she wondered if these conversations wouldn't be easier for both of them if he knew her secret as well, mostly because then they wouldn't have to have them in the first place. For a split-second, she considered telling him right then and there, imagined his reaction, but then reality thankfully dropped back in on her.

"I'm good, Oliver, don't worry. He... He wouldn't hurt me."

"Laurel, he's dangerous," Oliver warned, because he felt the need to, because it would be expected of him. Deep down, though, he was holding his breath for her answer, his words testing how serious she was in her faith in his alter ego.

"Not to me," she assured him and Oliver released a breath he hadn't known he was holding. He was relieved, glad even, that she felt that way. After what had happened at Iron Heights and the way he had mishandled their conversation on the roof of this very building, he hadn't been sure there was still any good will toward the Hood left in her. "Trust me," she pleaded with him.

He nodded, almost imperceptibly.

"Okay... okay, just, be careful please," he murmured as he moved forward to envelop her in a hug. Like at Sara's graveside, he wasn't quite sure what prompted him to move, but he felt better for it.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Starling General)_

It was the dead of night when he met her at the basement door at the back of the hospital. It had taken some shuffling to even get them there as the entire area around the hospital was well-lit at all times. There was no guard at the door, but it was secured by an alarm, so the minute they would be on a clock. They both ignored the keypad on the door as it required both a code and an individual key card to overcome, instead they manually attached one of his explosive arrows and took refuge several feet away in one of the few shadows that the scene offered them.

They crouched against the wall, their backs to the small explosion as it tore the door of its hinges. No alarm was heard, but they had little doubt that the security office on the ground floor had lit up like a Christmas tree with their little intrusion, so they didn't hesitate to breech the opening. They found a guard after all, slammed into the ground by the door coming off its hinges and groaning softly. Thankfully, he was alive.

Unfortunately, he was not the only one.

Two more guards had apparently been on patrol down here and had hit the floor when the assault started to protect themselves. When they saw the vigilantes come in, they picked themselves up and charged. Oliver slowed his approach and let Black Canary take the brunt of their aggression. As he expected, it didn't even slow her down. She slammed the first into the nearest wall with her body weight, one baton sliding against his throat to control him.

Her foot swung out to kick the second man, making him stumble back. She pulled the guard she was holding forward for a second, only to slam his head against the concrete again... and repeat. He went down without a fight. Moving away from the wall, she ducked under the swing of the second guard, hitting him straight in a liver with her baton as she danced around him. Her foot pulled his leg with her, while her baton came down on his now conveniently located head, making him fall to her feet.

All the while, Oliver was reclining calmly against the wall closer to the entrance. Black Canary didn't look back at him to see if he followed her, which he did after a moment. She didn't even turn around when footsteps indicated that the guards at the rear entrance of the hospital had followed the sound of the explosion. Not that she needed to. Oliver took quick aim with an arrow he had shown her on their first mission together, dropping the two guards with a small cloud of knockout gas that they carelessly breathed in when they thought themselves safe because he had _missed_ them.

He caught up to her at the main entrance to the basement. They exchanged a glance and he cocked another arrow before they opened the door. When there was no immediate threat, she rushed upward to meet the security detail whose descending footsteps alerted them to their presence. She broke through them and rushed out onto the second floor, while Oliver waited downstairs. The silence in the hall assured him that their plan had worked. The first blast had taken out any immediate cameras at the entrance and Black Canary had dealt with the rest on her way to the stairs.

The security office had probably been emptied out to respond to her intrusion and the only people who knew he was there, lay unconscious in the basement. That gave him a small window of opportunity as he hurried up to the seventh floor where the hospital's lab was located. He slammed through the door to the stairwell to an empty hallway. Even the lab was at low capacity at night.

Oliver spotted a scientist from the lab complex housed there come out to see what the ruckus was about. When he saw the vigilante, the man screeched an scrambled back into the lab. He tried to close the door behind him, but Oliver was over there faster than he could slam it. There were several other scientists and assistants in lab coats in the room, some of whom shuffled into a corner at the sight of him. He switched his bow to his non-dominant hand and held out the other as a peace offering.

"I'm not going to hurt you. I need your help," he told them calmly, trying to be as non-threatening as possible. He noticed a shuffle in his peripheral vision and turned toward it, left arm raised to protect himself. A large Erlenmayer flask smashed against his arm, breaking into a million pieces some of which cut his arm even through his leather armor. Oliver hissed in pain, but in order to gain there trust by keeping his promise he merely turned the young man around and shoved him back to his friends. He then motioned for them to move to the other side of the room where he could at least see them all without trouble. They did so without question and their expressions were a bit less frightened and hostile. The man who'd attacked him, frankly, looked surprised to even be in one piece.

Oliver tried again.

"You've recently had an influx of victims drugged with a new type of roofie. I'm trying to find out who's producing it so they can't hurt anyone else... but I need your help."

Footsteps made him turn around briefly, arrow cocked on the bow again. Even though Black Canary almost ran right into the tip, he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw her.

"The guards?"

"A bit tied up," she told him. With their own handcuffs, no doubt.

"Sorry for the mess," was the first thing she said once she turned her attention to the scientists and saw the glass on the floor. He caught her worried eye, but shook his head that they could deal with his injuries later. "We're looking for whoever analyzed the drugs I brought in along with Ms Queen last night."

Stressed silence followed that statement, while the men and women exchanged frightened glances.

"We're not here to hurt anyone," Oliver reassured them again, ultimately placing his bow on the ground before him. One nervous-looking scientist raised her hand until he gestured for her to go on.

"Uhm, well," she started as she moved carefully to a small in-house mailbox, pulling out the top folder. "I didn't work on it myself, but this is the report. Only, uhm... could you make a copy or something, 'cause this has to go to the doctors to...ah... treat the patients."

Oliver exchanged a glance with the Canary, who shrugged.

"Is there a copy machine on this floor?", she asked.

"Oh, yeah, in the room at the end of the hallway. You just need to swipe the key card and uhm..."

She stopped talking when she saw the two vigilantes look at her non-plussed. Going beet-red, she stumbled over to them with the report. They let her pass between them and followed her to the copy room, Oliver picking his bow off the ground. When they were almost at the end of the hallway, there was a large bang against the doors to the stairwell.

"I knocked off the handle on their side but they'll throw the door down soon enough. We've got to hurry," Canary told them. "Cover us."

Oliver nodded. As the two women rushed into the room, Oliver positioned himself in the doorway. He heard the continuous bangs and saw the door rattling under the security guards' or possibly the police's efforts to kick it down. Then he heard an unexpected ding when the elevator arrived. The first thing he saw were the lights attached to their service weapons shining into the hallway. Four police officers in riot gear entered the hallway and Oliver shot two of them in the leg before they saw where he was. They opened fire on him right as their colleagues broke through the door as well. The fire ceased for a few seconds, so they wouldn't shoot each other and Oliver took the opportunity to shoot another few. Two he hit in the shoulder, another in the arm, then they were in formation.

"Duck behind the copying machine and cover your ears," Canary instructed their helpful scientist, who scrambled to do as she was told, and pocketed the documents. Then she looked at him with a quiet apology in her eyes. She hadn't brought him earplugs this time and he hadn't managed to salvage those he'd been given for the Dark Archer situation while she stitched him up. Oliver just grunted and covered her with two more arrows as she rolled her sonic bomb into the hallway. She hissed in pain when a bullet grazed her anyway, but rushed to the window anyway.

He followed on her heels, cursing her for running ahead, then shot his cable quickly into the hospital wall and let it set down gently on the ground. When he watched her land on her feet, he was sure she'd break her legs, but she just rolled across the grass and came right back up. Oliver didn't have time to think about it, because the police continued shooting at them from above.

They made their way to the club in record time. If Black Canary was surprised that he led her there or that this was his hideout, she didn't show it. As it was the middle of the night and he didn't have to worry about running into Tommy, who took his job managing the construction very seriously and was at the club almost constantly, they took the front entrance. He thought about shielding the keypad from her view with his body and she was polite enough to remain a few steps behind him, but ultimately decided that if she had come this far, he might as well not bother. Diggle was definitely surprised when he saw her coming down the stairs behind him.

"You brought her here- He brought you here?", he asked perplexed.

Canary just shrugged.

"Like you said, Dig, she already knows the rest. It doesn't take a genius to figure out this is where we work from," Oliver announced, putting down the bow.

"The rest... So you know about the list..."

"List. What list?", she asked immediately and Oliver grit his teeth. He should have been more careful, he thought, even as Dig cast him an apologetic glance and Oliver wondered if he'd done that on purpose.

"Almost all the rest," he admitted, "and not the point right now."

He looked at her pointedly, making Canary roll her eyes. She dropped the subject, though, and pulled out the documents from her jacket. The three of them gathered around with Oliver and Diggle looking over her shoulders to read the report. They skimmed over a couple of graphs and lists of components for the drug. None of them had the background to fully understand the chemical composition of the drug, but skipping through the pages they found a short written account of the findings that luckily also included some explanatory notes.

"According to this, the drug is made up of a number of prescription strength psychedelic drugs in addition to GHB and the liquid inside the capsules contains water from the East Glades Bay."

"East Glades Bay?", Diggle repeated pensively. "There's an abandoned juvenile correction facility there that would serve wonderfully as a drug lab. Shielded from view, not a lot of police presence... The works, you might say."

"That still doesn't tell us who's making these drugs. Psychedelic drugs have shown up in the blood of previous victims, but that could still be any hospital with a psych ward, a chemist at a pharmacy handing out these drugs or-"

"The Starling City Asylum," Oliver spoke up. He'd turned away from them to the row of computers on the desk behind them. Canary and Diggle turned around to see that he'd pulled up some kind of map. A closer look revealed the East Glades Bay area shown on the map. Two red dots indicated the juvenile correction facility and the asylum, which were conveniently located pretty much next to one another. Oliver then pulled up an article according to which the asylum had expanded into the refurbished prison in order to adequately treat their patients and research new treatment options.

"They even have their own lab to keep track of how newly legalized drugs affect their patients... Or to cook roofies, which is probably more lucrative," Diggle pointed out.

"Then that's our target."

"Then we should get this to the cops and leave them to deal with it," Canary concluded. Both men looked at her non-plussed. "We're talking about a prison. Even if it was for kids, the building is fortified and easily defensible. Trying to take it, just the three of us, would be... Well, we might as well check ourselves into the asylum while we're there."

Diggle nodded reluctantly.

"She has a point. While they're in there, they're practically untouchable... You could use the police as a distraction to get in, but... if they're there anyway..."

They both looked expectantly at Oliver, who was gritting his teeth once again. They did have a point; it was a very risky proposition to attack a fortified drug lab full of armed thugs with a bow and a couple of batons. Even if they considered his trick arrows and her sonic bombs and the element of surprise, the odds were still against them. On the other hand, if they were stealthy enough, they might be able to divide and conquer their enemies. He looked at his two partners in crime. They were waiting for his decision and he knew in that moment that, for all their protests, they would go along with whatever he decided.

He was loathe to let the people who'd hospitalized his little sister get off so easy by calling the police, but could he really lead them into what could amount to a death trap for his personal vengeance? He slammed his fist on the table in frustration, because it seemed he had failed his city and, more importantly, his family yet again. His eyes fell onto the red blinking dot on the map again. His blood boiled at the thought that they were still happily cooking up their drug while he was standing there with his hands tied. He had to get them off the board somehow. Somehow...

"We could draw them out, take them while they're vulnerable," he suggested as an idea hit him.

"How?", both Dig and Canary asked in unison.

"By offering them a deal too lucrative to refuse."

"You want to pose as a buyer," Diggle surmised.

"There's two problems with that the way I see it," Canary told them, exchanging a glance with Diggle. The two seemed to be on the same page, because the bodyguard motioned for her to continue. "You haven't exactly taken stock of yourself recently, have you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oliver, you are an extremely wealthy, good-looking celebrity castaway with a reputation for exchanging women like clothes. I doubt anyone is going to believe that you need a roofie to chat up a lady," she told him with a snort. He raised an eyebrow at her. "What?"

"Good-looking?"

"Seriously? I'm a straight woman, what is wrong with me noticing?", she said by way of explanation. "And you can't tell me you haven't noticed how... toned my legs look in my own leather pants..."

She let the sentence drift of and watched him as his gaze did fall from her face at the reminder. She rolled her eyes, even as he inclined his head to show his agreement.

"And even if they miss that, there's no way they won't get suspicious when the man whose sister was just hospitalized by their drug wants to do business with them," she continued. "You can't seriously expect them to buy that."

"You got a better idea?", Oliver challenged, but without malice behind the words.

Again, she and Diggle looked at each other.

"No, Oliver, we don't," the bodyguard told him honestly. "But that doesn't make yours a good one. You have to be aware of the risk. We won't have a lot of feet on the ground there."

"Diggle is right; we'll need all the help we can get-"

"We're not calling the police!", Oliver warned her in a deadly tone.

"I meant that we need – and I can't believe the words are coming out of my mouth – Helena there."

Stunned silence encompassed them for a minute. It seemed even Diggle hadn't quite seen this coming, despite their silent communication. Still, the other man nodded absentmindedly at the suggestion.

"Between Black Canary and me, the risk would still be too great. We're gonna need additional man-... or, well, womanpower."

"And what am I, chopped liver?"

"No, you're Oliver Queen – castaway billionaire playboy and I've probably met kittens who punch harder than him," Diggle reminded him.

"He's right, Oliver, you can't fight. If the police got wind of that – ever – they'd start looking at you again. Harder, this time... Which is also why Diggle is going as himself and not the Hood. If somebody realized that there are two of you-"

"It's game over," Diggle finished.

"Alright, alright- we need an in first anyway. I guess I'll talk to my Bratva contacts after all. I don't suppose you want to accompany me?"

"Your ploys are getting worse," she snorted at him.

"Worth a try," he shot back with a grin.

"Diggle will go with you. Call me as soon as you've got a time and place and I'll tell Helena."

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Big Belly Burger)_

The way Tommy was wolfing down his burger and fries, one would think he hadn't eaten in a week. Then again, Oliver guessed he'd been so immersed in his new job that maybe he had been skipping meals. Tommy had really thrown himself into it, even going so far as to yelling at their contractors that morning because they weren't keeping the agreed upon schedule and threatening to bring in someone else to finish the job if they couldn't or wouldn't. Oliver had been rather impressed with Tommy's dedication, though he was worried if his friend was doing this because he liked the new job or because of something to do with his father. Proving that he could succeed without him, perhaps, or just distracting himself from the reminder of the broadening rift between them.

"Well, I'm glad I got you out here to eat. It was clearly a necessary intervention," Oliver piped up when Tommy asked Carly for seconds, then took his glass of water and gulped most of it down in record time. "Are you going to inhale that one too?"

"Ah, sorry about that. I didn't realize how hungry for greasy, salty Big Belly Burger goodness I was before it was in front of me."

"No, I get it. You've been so busy with the club and I'm not exactly much of a help, am I?"

Tommy waved him off.

"That's probably a good thing. I told you, you don't exactly have experience at running... anything."

"And you do?," Oliver asked him carefully. "I just realized I never asked what you've been up to these past five years, but... you handled the benefits so well I should have realized..."

"Don't worry, Ollie," Tommy told him. "My father doesn't even know half the things I did the last five years – although, that's maybe not much of a surprise. Mostly I went on as before, but, you're right, I did organize a few... things. Mostly for maritime charities after I tried to f-"

Oliver frowned at him. Tommy scoffed at himself.

"I tried to find you. Flew to China and made a fuss until-" He hesitated for the briefest moment, wondering if he should tell his friend about being kidnapped and threatened, but decided against it. Oliver had gone through enough. "Until dad ordered me home. Afterwards... I threw myself into almost anything to do with sea... work – exploration and mapping, cleaning up the ocean projects, the likes. Most of them didn't even have anything remotely to do with the Gambit or sinking ships in general, but it was a way I felt... connected to you. Getting practice at throwing fund raisers was just an added bonus that pays off in hindsight."

He tried to end on a joking note, but Tommy could see the torn look on Oliver's face. Guilt and pride were two of the emotions he recognized that were warring for dominance in his friend's mind, he could tell. How his friend's pride in him could mean more than even any gesture of his father's affection drove home to Tommy once again that the day his mother had been killed, he had actually lost them both. Her killer had turned him into an orphan and Oliver's family had filled in the void. Oliver's family had been there for him and taken care of him and loved him in a way his father couldn't. Robert had been his real dad, Moira had been practically a second mother with how she hat doted on him and Oliver and Thea were the best siblings Tommy could have ever wished for.

"My father was there for me in all the superficial ways it mattered. He worked, he provided me with food and shelter and he paid my bills, but it was your father who took me to my first baseball match, your father who drove us to soccer training, your father who took us and Thea camping once a month in summer-"

"Much to my mother's horror when she read there might be a wolf in the area," Oliver reminisced laughing. "Even though it turned out to be-"

"A shaggy sheep dog who'd run after a stray sheep and gotten lost for a few months," Tommy finished as they shared a laugh. "Poor thing. He'd been such a sweetheart, really, but I remember your mother nearly having a heart attack when we turned up at the door with him in tow and asked her to call the vet."

"Yeah, a pity we found the owner. Thea wanted so desperately to keep him."

They shared another laugh while Carly put down Tommy's new plate.

"This time, Merlyn, chew your food," she said in warning.

"Yes, ma'am," he answered with a mock salute. He turned back to Oliver when she left, though not until she'd seen him take a careful bite and chew for at least twenty seconds. "The point is, your father did all of those things for me, while my- while Malcolm was simply present in my life. Your dad was a good man. I miss him."

Oliver sighed.

"My dad had his own problems. He told me he wasn't the man we thought he was before... well, before. But, you're right, he was a good dad to me and Thea and... to you... I'm glad you were and still are a part of my family, Tommy. It wouldn't be the same without you," Oliver told him honestly, when suddenly his phone started ringing. He glanced at the caller id and recognized the garage he and Diggle had visited earlier. He wondered if Diggle had managed to get the man Oliver had supposedly killed out of town yet.

He had suddenly been glad that Canary had declined to come along; he doubted she'd have stood by while she thought he murdered someone like Diggle had. The action had still shocked the veteran, even after he had revealed the trick involved. He picked up the phone and simply listened as the mechanic's voice spoke softly to him in Russian.

" _We've made contact."_

"Glad to hear it,"he replied in the same language. "One moment, please."

He leaned forward conspiratorially.

"It's a Russian model... calling me. Can I have a minute?"

Tommy held up both his hand with a grin. "Now I know how you spend your days when you're not at the club."

He and Oliver shared another grin, before Tommy got up to use the restroom.

"I'm listening," Oliver told them, once Tommy was out of sight.

" _They're willing to meet you tonight. Only you, no weapons."_

Oliver scoffed.

"Tell them not to insult my intelligence. I'll bring my bodyguard and he will be armed."

"Very well," the other man answered with disinterest. It wasn't his life on the line after all. "As with Mr Lawton, the organization expects you to leave us out of this."

"If I survive, you mean," Oliver said, recalling their conversation about Deadshot. While Big Belly Burger was always full of patrons, he wasn't particularly worried about being overheard. The entire conversation was in Russian, too, so he doubted anyone thought twice about what was being said.

" _Indeed... Anatoli Knyzev speaks very highly of you."_

"He should. I saved his life... Give me the time and location," he said while pulling out the Hood's phone as well. He typed the information in as he listened to the directions and hit sent even before he ended the call. His eyes fell to his half-eaten burger. It was getting cold, but he was still loathe to tear himself away from it and from his outing with Tommy, but he had some things to prepare. So when his friend returned, he began to excuse himself, but Tommy grabbed onto his arm to pull him back for a moment.

"You know there's nothing between me and Laurel right?"

Oliver must have looked rather flattened, because Tommy snorted and went on.

"Come on, Ollie, I'd have to be blind not to see there's something there when you look at her."

He didn't find Oliver's continued lack of answer off-putting. _The same could be said for you_ , Oliver thought meanwhile. He clamped down on that thought as his mind even refused to deny there was anything there. Perhaps because he was not generally in the habit of lying to himself, he had preferred to simply not think about it. Push it out of his mind rather than confront it head-on.

"All I'm saying is, if you're holding back because of me... don't."

He shook his head.

"It's not you, it's not anything."

Tommy raised an eyebrow.

"If anything, it would be Sara."

That statement left a very confused Tommy behind when Oliver practically fled the diner.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

The lights flickered out before she practically appeared in the room out of nowhere. Helena didn't seem surprised. She didn't even get up at first, though Black Canary could feel her tense more and more the closer she got. When Canary stopped a few paces from where she was sitting on the floor, Helena's entire body seemed rigid. She assessed the other woman carefully. Helena was curled around a pillow , legs and arms drawn close to herself. The place was littered with take-out plates and paper napkins, even some leftovers here and there.

The other woman had clearly not taken very good care of herself recently, while hiding away in her and her fiancé's apartment. Laurel's heart constricted a bit, thinking about why she had retreated to this place. Why she had kept it after the man she loved had been murdered. A reminder, certainly, but now also a place of comfort and safety from the demons she had been thrown in with by her and Oliver.

"Helena, I need your help."

Apparently, that had been the last straw, the final bit of pressure that the woman needed to snap, because Helena shot up from the floor and charged Laurel head-on. Canary easily sidestepped the attack. This wasn't the Huntress attacking, it was a tightly coiled emotional ball of fury and guilt and while that gave Helena strength, it took away her ability to act strategically. If Laurel hadn't been convinced Helena had been unstable before, now she definitely would be. However, she noted with a large dose of guilt, it had been her who had finally pushed her over the edge.

Or over again, as it were. She had given the young woman that final blow. Just when Helena showed a bit of the humanity Laurel had pointed out she missed in her, she had, of course, had to point out that that was not the moment to mourn the fireman's death. She had indeed been a sanctimonious bitch to the other woman that night; she recognized that even as she continued to think it necessary and sidestepped another attack. This time she grabbed onto Helena and used her momentum to throw her to the ground in hopes of waking her up. When all she did was kick Laurel's legs out from under her, Canary let out a grunt of anger rather than pain, even as her back hit the floor uncomfortable.

Helena appeared over her, ready to smash a vase in her face. Laurel raised her arm to derail the attack and the vase went flying into the wall. No doubt the neighbors had heard that and the rest of the ruckus; Helena wasn't exactly quiet as she tried to take her opponent down. With a bit of shuffling and maneuvering – and a jab at the soft spot between her clavicles – she managed to get the angry woman under control, face down on the ground. Even now Helena growled and cursed at her. Laurel huffed; she was beginning to regret not having sent her mentor in her stead, but she had figured since she had caused Helena's existential crisis, she should be the one to, hopefully, talk her out of it.

"You're a friend of Oliver Queen, yes?... At least, you were seen eating together at Da Russo's." That wasn't even a total lie; there had been a tabloid article about their romantic candlelight dinner. Because the Bertinelli villa had been shot up shortly afterward, no one really cared enough to blow the story out of proportion as the media would usually have done.

"You heard what happened to his sister?"

That got her to stop wiggling.

"Yeah, I heard... you swooped in like some fucking hero, you heartless bitch!"

"So you do talk?! Progress," Canary couldn't help but quip, prompting another struggle to get out from under her on Helena's part. She let the other woman up a little, only to slam her back down onto the ground to get her to cease. Thankfully, it worked. "Queen's arranged a meeting with the drug dealers..."

She let that sentence hang until Helena shook herself out of the shock.

"That idiot! What's he thinking?!"

"He's not. He just wants to do something for his sister, I imagine. The point is... there'll be a lot of drug dealers with a lot of guns and I'm alone."

"What about your green friend?", Helena hissed. "You two seemed so cozy; bet you were roasting marshmallows over that fire after I left..."

Laurel sighed.

"He's not exactly been the same recently, or hadn't you noticed? If he can barely handle one arsonist, I'm not putting him in the middle of a drug war, which is why – God help me – I came to you. I need you there. I need your help."

"Did it hurt you to say that? 'Cause I'd hoped you'd choke on the words!"

Laurel sighed and simply gave her the time and address, before getting off of her. All the way to the window Helena's curses followed her.

"Will you be there?", she finally asked as she stood in front of the window. She turned around half way to see Helena pick herself up off the ground. Her hands were shaking, in anger perhaps, but Laurel feared there might be something else mixed in there.

"Go to hell!"

Helena still fumed minutes after Black Canary had left, until an idea hit her. She went to grab some things from her closet and rushed out the door.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Parking Garage, somewhere in Starling)_

Diggle had stopped the car, but had left the engine running. That was ten minutes ago and still no one had come to meet them. He wasn't quite sure they still would, but if so: greenhouse gases be damned, he and Oliver would need a quick way out of there if things went south. Which he was sure they would and he could always jog to the grocery store the next couple of times. The bodyguard shook his head free of the thoughts as he got out and did a quick analysis of the perimeter, before going around the car to open the door for his client. The parking garage was run-down and abandoned, not that he was surprised given the neighborhood. It was empty, save their own car and for a moment Diggle thought – and hoped – that the drug dealers had stood them up, but then he noticed the headlights coming their way. He sighed and checked the comms.

"Ready?", he whispered.

"In position," Black Canary's answer came promptly. Diggle looked around surreptitiously, but couldn't spot an inch of black leather anywhere. He consoled himself with the thought that therefore neither could the drug dealers, probably.

"Is our mutual... acquaintance coming?"

"...She told me to go to hell, so I wouldn't hold my breath."

Her voice was calmer than Diggle felt.

"Brilliant," he muttered under his breath. "Here goes."

A black SUV stopped several meters from them. The first three people to get out were big, burly men with automatic firearms hanging around their necks. Diggle regretted bringing only his handgun and his spare ankle piece. He looked over to Oliver and wondered if he was armed. He knew Oliver didn't need a weapon to be deadly; if nothing else their recent encounter with the Bratva had proven that; but he's still feel better if his vigilante friend were armed. Diggle's hand went to his ear, poking a bit at one of the high tech earplugs Black Canary had provided them with. He'd heard about how much damage her sonic device could cause and was grateful that if push came to shove they had a way to take down the bunch of them, even though she had warned them that it cause severe bleeding if detonated to close to a living being.

One of the muscle frisking Oliver brought Diggle out of his thoughts. He blinked when he came face to face with a second guard, ready to do the same to him. The search on his partner yielded no results. They had agreed that it would be suspicious for Oliver Queen to carry a weapon, but Diggle had wondered and almost hoped his friend had ignored him, because, to be honest, it had been him and Black Canary who had agreed...

Still, he breathed a sigh of relief that things were proceeding smoothly for the moment. When the other goon tried to frisk him, Diggle held up a hand and pulled away his jacket to show him his holster. He also gave him a measured look to clarify the gun would stay where it was. The other man looked back at the SUV as if for confirmation, then backed off when the back door opened. A middle-aged man in a blue pullover got out carefully, coming forward to stand in front of Oliver. He adjusted his rimless glasses on his nose as he surveyed the two of them with barely withheld suspicion.

"I almost didn't come," the man said in a smooth, cultured voice. A scientist or doctor, perhaps? "After what happened to your sister, you understand, I figured this was a set up."

"Yet here you are," Oliver said jovially, keeping up his persona as a rich playboy, even though he was fuming inside.

"My friends checked the perimeter."

"Hence the delay," Oliver surmised, receiving an unapologetic shrug in return. "I don't like being kept waiting, Mr...?"

He smiled wolfishly, but didn't answer.

"How is Ms Queen, by the way? I did worry when I heard of her... predicament," he taunted instead. Diggle cast a glance at Oliver and saw him go rigid, but the vigilante kept his calm.

"On the way to recovery," he told them. A bold-faced lie; Thea's state hadn't changed last he'd checked in with their mother. He was a horrible brother and son for not being there, but he needed these people out of the way. "But enough chit chat. Time is money, they say, and I've got quite a bit of that burning a hole in this briefcase."

He lifted up the case in question. It hadn't been difficult to obtain the money; the bank employees were taught to be discreet and the man had spoken to had probably simply presumed he was paying somebody under the table for work on his club or that he needed the money for more unsavory pleasures, but hadn't pried. Explaining this to his mother if something went wrong would be a lot more complicated, but he quelled that thought, trusting that nothing would go wrong. In hindsight, of course, he would realize that that was his first mistake.

"And what is it that you want with my drug?"

"I'm about to open a club and I want my guests to have a little something... extra. While I won't deny that I want to punch you for what your drug did to my sister-" Here, he looked around at the suddenly nervous muscle. "-it also proved that you have the knowledge, skill and facilities to supply what I need. Something a bit less GHB and a bit more... ecstasy..."

"A custom job?", the other man questioned, surprised, but Oliver could see his eyes take on a gleam of curiosity, so he didn't hesitate; he placed the briefcase on the hood of his car and opened it to reveal neatly packed stacks of money.

"You'll be richly compensated for diverting some of your precious time and energy toward... pleasing my customers, I assure you," Oliver promised in a rich, dark voice. He saw the other man fixate on the money in fascination. Adjusting his glasses again, he came forward to take a closer look. Oliver picked up few bundles of dollars to demonstrate that there was no trickery involved and the suitcase was indeed filled with them. After he had replaced them, he allowed his opponent to stroke the edge of of the briefcase and glide his fingers over the money for a moment, before closing the briefcase again. "I'm willing to pay in advance for the first supply to showcase my good faith-"

"Oh, yes, I received your little gift from your Russian friends," the other man interjected, extending a hand behind him for one of his goons to place the police file in his hands. "So quaint: Of course, I could have gotten this any time I wanted, but I appreciate the gesture. A for effort, Mr Queen."

"Do we have a deal then?"

Their adversary tapped the folder against his lips, eyes drifting between Oliver's face and the briefcase. He paced momentarily, back and forth, occasionally turning his back on Oliver in the process. Finally, he walked back to face Oliver. The vigilante felt a sense of relief wash over him when he thought that the other man had accepted his deal, but then he pulled a gun from his back and pointed it straight at Oliver's face.

Not that they hadn't expected this to be the likeliest outcome, but it still put a scowl on the vigilante's face. Still, Oliver raised his hands to go along with the drug dealer for the moment and saw Diggle follow his lead out of the corner of his eye. He continued to scowl as the man taunted him by waving the weapon in his face, until something over the other man's shoulder caught his attention.

Black Canary had dropped from the ceiling behind the SUV and crept around the back. When she was close enough, she slammed one foot into the back of one goon's knee, while simultaneously swung her baton. It went over the head of the man she'd brought down onto one knee and into the throat of the muscle standing beside him. While the other man staggered, he watched her ram her knee under the ribs of the kneeling one, then shoved him onto the ground with her foot.

The third goon pulled around to shoot at her and Oliver opened his mouth to shout out a warning, but between Canary ducking behind the car, Diggle pulling out his gun and shooting at the third man, he suddenly noticed that the drug dealer had grabbed the case and run for the exit. Oliver cursed himself for his inattentiveness, sprinting after the smaller man.

As he caught up with him, he became vaguely aware of approaching sirens. He paid them no heed as he tried to grab hold of the man's arm, but it slipped through his finger so Oliver had to follow him out the door into the night. Before he'd fully opened the door, he found an injection needle coming his way. Oliver moved to block the arm, but the man then grabbed hold of the door and slammed it into Oliver's face. The vigilante stumbled backward. He saw the drug dealer follow him, only to be pulled away and spun around by another man.

A few inches shorter than Oliver himself and with a fit physique, but that was about all Oliver could tell about the new guy. He shook his head clear to gain a better look. In a split second, his trained mind assessed the new combatant. He wore knee-high black boots, military style black pants with pouches attached to either leg the same way Black Canary wore them. Instead of a simple leather jacket, though, he wore heavy body armor over it and a helmet in an odd shape with two protrusions that looked almost like...dog ears?

Something wanted to click in his mind, but it refused to settle. The door clearly had done a better job at disorienting him than he had first thought. The new vigilante – or whatever he was – looked him over to see if he was hurt and made to run after the drug dealer, but a bullet zinged off the staircase rails that forced him to duck instinctively. Two police officers stormed down the stairs to apprehend him, unthinking.

They positioned themselves between Oliver and the new guy, perhaps thinking this vigilante had attacked him. Whatever their thought process, they soon came to regret it. One officer was slightly in front of the other one, one in uniform while the other was in civvies. Oliver tried to concentrate, because the one in civvies seemed familiar, but his vision came in and out of focus.

He saw the vigilante disarm the uniformed officer with practiced ease, making sure the weapon was pointed elsewhere as he laid in on him with a powerful punch to the liver. The officer gasped for breath, dropping the gun without any more fight. A second punch to the temple sent him to the floor. The remaining officer aimed for the head but was distracted momentarily by Oliver grabbing his... her?... ankle, wanting to do something.

He needn't have worried; Black Canary's baton slipped underneath the gun and diverted its aim further up. The shot went harmlessly into the ceiling as she spun, taking the officer with her until... she... was sprawled on the ground right next to Oliver. This close, Oliver finally recognized McKenna Hall whom he had spoken to for the first time in years that morning. Her confusion only lasted a moment before her angry eyes fixated on the two vigilantes.

"Glad to see I didn't do too much damage this afternoon," she teased the detective, only to relish a little in the woman's displeased grunt. Bell-like laughter pearled out of her before she could stop it, until finally her partner's hand on her shoulder called her to attention. "Are you alright, Mr. Queen? That was quite the stunt you pulled there."

"F-fine," he managed, trying to urge her to leave before reinforcements came and play the hapless victim. "L-lucky you came... when y-you di-did."

He huffed. He felt a headache coming on.

"Come on, pretty bird, let's go," the other vigilante urged her softly and he recognized that voice despite or rather because of the distortion. What did that say about his life, he wondered, but everything he'd learned about this other guy finally clicked in his head when he heard his voice. The same voice he'd had in his ear during the Dark Archer incident.

So this was Wildcat...

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Starling General)_

The light they shone in his eyes only made the headache worse and he ducked out from under it as soon as possible. He heard the doctor sigh in exasperation and mutter something under his breath about difficult patients, but put down a few notes on his chart anyway. McKenna and Detective Lance were standing in one corner of his room, while his mother was glaring at him from the other, all of them waiting for the doctor to finish examining him.

Diggle was standing outside the room, opposite to the door and chatting with a uniform. Black Canary and Wildcat had thankfully gotten safely away if the disgruntled look on McKenna's face was anything to go by. Then again, she may simply be mad at him for having found him in the middle of a drug deal and doing exactly what she had told him to leave to the professionals.

"You're lucky, Mr. Queen. You don't seem to be concussed, but I'd advise against any strenuous activities for the rest of the day. Your brain does not need to be jostled any further. Also, no alcoholics," the doctor's voice brought Oliver out of his reverie. He nodded quietly at the man finishing up his paperwork and signing his release right there. Then he excused himself and took his leave of them. Once he was out the door, the small room seemed to shrink a little further as the tension threatened to suffocate the lot of them.

"What were you thinking?!", his mother was the first to speak, naturally. "Your sister is already in the hospital; were you planning to join her or, worse, did you want the first place she'd go once she wakes up to be your funeral?"

Once she wakes up... If she wakes up, Oliver was beginning to think.

"Mom, I'm sorry- McKenna, Detective Lance, I really didn't want to cause any trouble, but I thought... with how little you got, maybe I could... I did this for Thea! I thought I could-"

"-do the police's job?!" That was McKenna; she stalked over to him and despite what the doctor had just said, slapped him across the face. Hard. "I told you to stay out of this! I warned you these were dangerous crowds and that we would handle it! How would you dying help your sister?!"

"Ah, Hall..." Quentin tried to get her attention when he noticed the shift in Moira's anger, from her son to the woman manhandling him. Not that he blamed her since McKenna had taken to grabbing Oliver by the shoulder.

"Wake up, Oliver! This isn't the island; you can't just go around and do whatever you want or think you need!", she hissed at him, meanwhile, not paying either of the other two any heed. She saw the shift in Oliver almost instantly, saw the way he flinched away from her at the mention of the island. There was pain and... yes, fear in his eyes. She didn't know where it came from exactly, but it caused a sudden flash of guilt to rush through her.

For the first time, she noticed how her heart was racing, how close she was standing and how hard she was gripping his shoulders. Pressing her lips together, she let go and drew a few steps back. He wouldn't look at her, keeping his eyes somewhere at the height of her chest. Normally, she would find that quite maddening in a man, but his eyes were empty. Dull.

He wasn't seeing her at all.

"Look, Oliver, I'm sorry if... if I came across...harsh, but you gotta understand... You gotta leave this to the cops," she finally managed to force out, but his eyes never came back into focus. Instead he grabbed his jacket from the gurney and stormed out of there. She went after him and called his name, but he never stopped as he made his way down the hallway, his bodyguard wisely following a few feet behind him.

"Is he under arrest?", Moira asked belatedly, but her voice was more tired than bitter as she addressed Quentin.

"No," the detective answered equally resigned. "I get what he did. If it had been Laurel or...or Sara, I would have done the same. I did..." But he interrupted himself; this was not the time to talk about his failings toward his daughter. "He can't do this again, Moira."

A beat of silence.

"I know."

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

Without knowing where he was going, Oliver found himself in Thea's room. He stayed there for quite a while, hours to be honest. His mother came and went when she could get no response out of them. He heard her exchange a few whispers with Diggle, but he didn't pay enough attention to hear what was said. His eyes never left Thea's face. Less pale, less drawn, now she only looked asleep. She just wouldn't wake up. Worry and despair crashed into him like tidal waves and Oliver had to bite his lip to keep the sobs from escaping.

Thea had always been so important to him, but he hadn't known how much he would miss her until she was lying here in this hospital bed. So close and yet out of reach. The island had been harsh, but he'd had barely any time to think about his life back home, because it had been a constant fight for survival. Now he had Thea right in front of him and may as well be separated from her by several oceans...

Diggle tried to talk to him, too, but Oliver just never answered. Why couldn't everyone just leave him alone? Wasn't it obvious that he had no intention of talking? Yet at the same time he wanted to yell at the world. There was so much he had to say, that he and Diggle had to discuss, too, but he couldn't muster the energy. He had failed his sister yet again and now he was just numb. Hours later, Diggle had gone home to rest with a squeeze to Oliver's shoulder and the promise that he could call whenever he wanted. More time passed and he was still sitting there staring at Thea's face.

Nurses and doctors and orderlies had tried to tell him that visiting hours were over and when that had gotten no reaction, one kind nurse had gotten to orderlies to bring in a cot in which to sleep. He hadn't touched it, had barely even looked at it. The nurse had put a cup of chamomile tea on the night stand next to Thea's bed, but it had gone cold untouched. Oliver just kept staring at his sister until he stood up abruptly, gripped by a restlessness he couldn't explicate, kissed Thea's forehead gently and promised to come back soon.

He was sitting in a cab without fully realizing how he got there. An address tumbled out of his mouth, but it wasn't for home. Once they'd arrived, he paid the driver blindly and sprinted his way up the stairs. He knocked gently once, then more forcefully. Determinedly. He knew he would practically have to bang on the door to get a response at this hour of the night, which is why he was surprised when Diggle answered the door within a few seconds. The lights were still on and Oliver wondered how he hadn't noticed that from outside, but he had to admit to himself that he hadn't paid attention to much of anything in quite a while. When he saw the coffee maker was making a fresh pot, he almost backed out the door.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't realize you had... Asked Carly out, did you?", he asked, half-confused because of the time, half glad that the recent incident with Diggle's old army buddy hadn't put her off dating him.

The other man just snorted.

"Grab a mug from the kitchen and bring the coffee. We're in dire need of it in the living room."

With that, he left Oliver hovering in the entrance. The thought of backing out dropped from his mind as curiosity took over. So he did as told and was stopped dead in his tracks at the entrance to the living room. Blinds drawn across the windows, Black Canary and Wildcat were sitting on the couch and in an armchair respectively, half-empty mugs of coffee resting atop a building plan. He noted with interest that it was for the closed juvenile correction facility. They were discussing various entry points in hushed tones when he entered and they looked up.

"You took your time," Wildcat said with a smirk.

"Wh-What are you doing here?"

Black Canary rose to take the coffee pot from him, but hovered for a moment, her head cocked questioningly to the side.

"Were you planning on letting this go? Handing our investigation over to the police and letting them handle it?"

He must have looked offended when she said it, because she chuckled darkly at him.

"Didn't think so."

"But, if we're going in there, we need a plan," Wildcat continued. "Especially if it's just the three of us."

Oliver looked over at Diggle, who shrugged.

"Trust me, I was as surprised as you when I came home to find them sitting comfily in my living room... And I keep saying, it's four of us."

"Unless you're planning on wearing a mask, you're not coming. Too recognizable," Canary commented dryly and it sounded like they'd been having this conversation a few times while he had been at the hospital.

"Well, if your friend has an extra helmet..."

"What, Queen doesn't have a spare hood lying around?", Wildcat taunted, earning himself a slap to the arm by Canary.

"I can offer a ski mask," Oliver finally said as he sat down, finally recovering from the shock.

"It's settled then," Diggle told them. Once the almost friendly banter had run out, though, the three co-conspirators turned nervous, fidgeting in their seats and generally not looking at him. His raised eyebrow had his partner sigh. "There is something- We've been over all the possible entry points all night. Since this was a prison, there's only really three. Front door for the prisoners, access door for employees and transport and the delivery gate. Now the latter two are right next to each other, so we could split into two teams to cover both main entrances – not counting various office windows they might escape from."

"I hear a but coming..."

"It's a big compound," Canary told him. "We may be able to make our way in, but we don't know how many people are in there and if the party gifts they brought to our meeting earlier are any indication, they're well-armed."

"We need the police on this," Wildcat concluded. He continued despite Oliver's eyes darkening. "Our window of opportunity will be small, but it's the only way we can be sure to take them off the streets for good."

There was a challenge in his tone as if he expected Oliver to suggest a more... permanent solution than sending them to jail. All eyes were on him now, questioning or scrutinizing. He had killed very rarely since his initial agreement with Black Canary, but the thought of letting that bastard escape to a comfy prison cell made him want to scream. Still, he would need their help to take the compound, so he might have to play along – for a while. He thought of Thea and her long coma and couldn't help but think how satisfying it would be to give the man a taste of his own medicine.

"Alright, let's go."

"Not so fast!", three voices called out, making Oliver look at them quizzically.

"You've seen enough action for one night, man," Diggle pointed out. "If you can walk in a straight line tomorrow-"

"I was hit with a door, not drunk."

"And then almost drugged, which I prevented. So you owe me and I agree with Mr Diggle," Wildcat reminded him. Oliver opened his mouth to argue that he'd helped stop McKenna from shooting him, but the three sets of glares in his direction made him shut up.

Black Canary smirked.

"Rest now, Queenie. We'll talk more tomorrow."

He glared right back.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Starling General)_

Moira sat at her daughter's hospital bed again. She had thought to give Oliver room by keeping her distance for a while after the incident with Detective McKenna Hall. She remembered the detective as a bit of a wild child in her school days, always flitting from one party to the next like a social butterfly. She and Oliver had crossed paths on occasion and usually gotten in trouble together, but she hadn't been a fixture in her son's life like Tommy. Still, apparently her son had felt comfortable enough to approach her about Thea's situation and then had somehow felt encouraged to meet with a dangerous drug dealer to provide the police with sufficient data to arrest the bastards.

Hall may have said that she'd told Oliver to leave it to the police, but clearly that had only stoked him. The detective should have never even agreed to talk to Oliver about the case. She thought he was past the foolishness, but if his appearance at the building inauguration and his pursuit of the Queen Consolidated shooter was any indication – the latter of which, at least, should be public knowledge among the police – he still clearly had a predisposition for stupid stunts that could give her a heart attack.

She looked over at Thea, imagining for a moment Oliver lying beside her in another hospital bed. Her two children both struck down by the same drug dealer – or worse, what if Oliver had died there?! How would she have explained to Thea that her brother had died trying to catch the bastard that did this to her?! A suppressed sob broke through the surface of her mask and Moira raised a hand to stifle it, but another followed. And then another. And then she simply broke apart as all the whirling thoughts in her mind tore her in different directions.

Tears streaming down her face, she subconsciously rocked her body back and forth to soothe herself. Her eyes never left her daughter's face; so still. Too still. After a few minutes, a noise made her look at her phone, hoping it was Oliver. It had been almost a day now since he had last spoken to her. Even hours before at breakfast, he'd simply grabbed a danish and rushed out of the mansion as if her presence stifled him. He hadn't been home since. But when she saw that it was Walter calling again, she chose to decline the call. That was one heart-wrenching drama in her life that she could not deal with right now. He would just have to wait.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Juvenile Correction Facility)_

"Once I place this call," Wildcat announced through the comms, "we'll have ten, maybe fifteen minutes before this place will be swarming with police. Are you ready?"

Oliver merely grunted in response, which Diggle – or Spartan, as they would call him for this op – translated into agreement. They had split into two groups. Because he and Spartan both favored long-range weapons, his bow and Diggle's gun, they'd agreed to each accompany one of their partners. He and Black Canary would take the direct approach as they were the most recognizable and there was a chance, forces would be reassigned to fight them, thus clearing the way for Wildcat and Spartan at the back. Oliver had grumbled a bit as he would have preferred for Wildcat to join him, but he couldn't very well say that. He didn't want to explain that he felt it would be easier for him to disable the stranger rather than turn violently against the woman he'd teamed up with from time to time, but he was determined to see this through for Thea's sake and if he could Canary by surprise, maybe...

He shook his head clear when he heard the call go through to the police precinct. There was a nearby shuffle in which his current partner took out the guard on the outside of their entrance and attached the sonic bomb to the door, before rejoining him around a dark corner. They had decided on the direct approach rather than a second-story window because they didn't want to have to deal with enemies at their backs. They couldn't risk getting stuck in a fight literally at two fronts. The bomb went off, no doubt drawing the right kind of attention away from the other possible entry point.

Oliver felt his earpieces filter out the sound, any sound, and took a millisecond to balance himself. He felt weird, being unable to hear anything. For an archer sight may seem more important, but on the island he'd learned that listening in enemy territory could be vital. Nonetheless, he moved when Black Canary moved, following her inside. His frame blocked the door, while she went to work on a couple of thugs who'd apparently been playing cards to the right. Meanwhile, Oliver shot the third man in the leg and the shoulder, then walked over to where he still lay on the floor after the sonic blast had thrown him, and stepped unceremoniously on his hand. The crunching noise was almost satisfying, though not as much as punch in the face that knocked the guy out completely.

They didn't bother tying the thugs up, trusting that the police would be here before they ever woke up again. Instead he advanced to the stairs, not waiting for Canary to catch up, but sensing her behind himself. Three men came running down from above. The first he shouldered off further down the stairs where he vaguely heard his pained groan at however Canary put him through the paces. He dived under the swing of the second, grabbing onto his arm and ramming his knee up into the man's groin and stomach repeatedly. When he saw the third aiming his weapon, he threw two of his darts into his hand and arm, making him drop the gun.

As he grabbed hold with the other hand and turned the man in his grasp around to slam him into the nearest wall, he noticed his current partner rushing past him. She turned to the side at the last moment to evade a kick, giving his liver a good punch and then pushing her foot into the hollow of his knee. Once he was one the ground she moved to introduce his head to the railing of the stairs. Oliver saw that the man moved to grasp a handgun and let his own quarry sink moaning to the ground in order to cock another arrow that went straight through the man's remaining good hand just as his head bounced off the railing with an audible clonk. He and Canary shared a look. She nodded slowly in acknowledgement.

Finally, they rounded on the main hall, which had probably been the cafeteria originally and was now a drug lab. When they were greeted with machine gun fire, the two quickly retreated back around the corner to take cover. As Canary pulled out another sonic bomb, more gunfire could be heard – singular, precise shots that caused some of the automatic gunfire to cease and the rest to change direction. Black Canary used that opportunity to roll her sonic device unnoticed into the room and once the silence in their ears was deafening, they jumped into action.

Wildcat had clearly beaten them to the punch as he was in the midst of things when Canary and Hood joined him. It was a bit of a mad fight, as Oliver had trouble keeping track of either their opponents or his teammates. He saw that quite a few of the men with machine guns were twisting on the grounds in pain, holding their head. So were many of the people mixing the drugs and all of them had blood trickling out of their ears. They were disoriented in a way that Oliver found it almost too easy to kick them to the ground. Those still standing unleashed uncoordinated attacks that were difficult to predict, but just sluggish enough that he could evade them without much effort.

Unfortunately, some of the drug cooks joined in on the fight, picking up instruments and Bunsen burners and other equipment they could use as a weapon. Once they'd gotten through the armed guards, it seemed almost a joke. He, Canary and Wildcat easily managed to disarm the few men and women that came forward, in his case with considerable prejudice that sent a few of them flying across tables and knocking down gear. They made their way reasonably calmly toward the man Oliver had met the night before, who stood on a stage and the far end of the room. There were two more goons with him, but from what Oliver could see, their muscles were their only weapons. They could hear police sirens approaching, but he knew he had more than enough time to make good on his plan. He eyes the small bags of pills neatly stacked on a table behind the drug dealer. He was wearing a white doctor's overall and a name tag that said Dr A. Webb.

Oliver didn't wait till they reached the good doctor; he shot the two men guarding him in the gut. A third arrow already cocked before they were fully down, he felt more than saw his three teammates stop dead in their tracks. Aimed carefully at Webb's face, he advanced while the drug dealer scrambled back into the table. The movement knocked a few of the bags onto the ground with small thuds, but Oliver didn't stop until the sharp tip of the arrow was poised directly against the other man's face.

Sweat ran along the doctor's face and Oliver could see clearly how blown his pupils were in fear, could practically feel the other man's frantic heartbeat thrum in his own blood. He heard the shuffling as Spartan and Wildcat tried to decide what to do. There was groaning behind them, some of the goons were recovering from the sonic blast. More shuffling had Oliver thinking that they were undecided as to who to turn their attention to. The sirens were close now, practically outside the doors.

"You have poisoned this city with your filthy drugs," Oliver growled quietly. "How many innocent people in the hospital-"

"Innocent?! Ha! You fool, I don't force anyone to take my drugs; they decide that all by themselves. They poison themselves, I only provide them with the entertainment they crave."

"Entertainment? Do you think the women and girls who get roofied with your drug find that entertaining?", Canary asked in a sneer. The sounds of a renewed fight reached them. Casting a glance backward, Oliver took notice of Spartan and Wildcat knocking the lights out of the recovering criminals, then shutting the cafeteria doors and blocking them to give them a few precious extra seconds without police interference. He better make them count.

"I'm not responsible for what my clients do with my product – whether they take it themselves or... graciously offer them to somebody else." The man's grin was sickening.

"Graciously..." Canary fumed, but before she could say anything else, Oliver had pushed the arrow a little further to draw blood.

"Your turn," he said darkly. There was a moment of pause. Perhaps the other two were trying to puzzle out what he meant, but their collective gasp soon followed. Canary's hand made its way to his arm holding the bow. He wasn't sure whether she was trying to calm him down or get his attention and he didn't care. He jerked his arm away from her, causing a nasty rip through Dr Webb's flesh as the arrow tore through his skin. Oliver then tightened his grip even further. "It's time to taste-test your own product, Webb. I'm _graciously_ offering it to you..."

The other man gulped.

"No," Canary protested. "That's not what we agreed on."

"It's what I decided."

"You're not in this alone. Wildcat, Spartan and I get a say and we never once-"

"I don't care!", he barked at her. "He has to pay for what he's done!"

"And he will!", she barked right back without an ounce of fear, shifting to face him. "The police is here; they'll take him in..."

As if on cue, there were shouts from the other side of the doors and banging as they tried to open them by force. Wildcat and Spartan backed away to the back of the room, urging them to go. Black Canary waved them ahead, assuring them that she and he would follow soon. He didn't think either of the other men bought it but they went to secure their only other exit anyway, probably having to wrench it free from police patrols.

"This isn't how it's done."

"Because you're such a saint."

"Hardly, but drugging him will not do his victims any good-"

"It will avenge them-"

"So will his sentencing – and without trampling all over the ideals of the law!"

"Like vigilantism."

"Not a saint. But you have to draw the line somewhere!"

He scoffed and was about to reply, give her a piece of his mind about her sunshine-and-daisies attitude toward fighting crime, when he finally noticed her predicament. She had clearly considered him to be the greater threat and a part of him was inappropriately flattered, but facing him had put her back to Dr Webb. Oliver noticed his movement with horror. Even though he didn't know what the psychiatrist was up to, he reacted by instinct. Letting go of his bow he pushed Black Canary out of the way with less force than he imagined would be necessary to move her if she weren't so surprised and stepped forward right into the drug dealers attack. He felt a piercing sensation in his chest.

Looking down he noticed the syringe that had been stuck through his leather body armor. He watched as if in slow motion while Canary forcibly removed the man's hand from his weapon of choice before he could press all of the liquid into Oliver's system. His bow, previously still held up by his fingers on the arrow and the string clattered to the ground as it took him both hands to remove the syringe from his own chest and plunge it into Dr Webb while he was being held down with his hands behind his back by his partner. He vaguely heard Canary's cry of protest, but by then it was already too late. The remaining drug had been pumped into Webb's system and Oliver had collapsed to his knees trying to fight the way his mind seemed to swim in sluggish sensations and colors and noises.

He wondered if this was how Thea had felt as he struggled to get to his feet. Canary, thankfully, forgot all about the drug dealer and moved to help him instead. With deceptive strength, she laid his arm over her shoulder and pulled him up. The incessant banging in his head grew louder and louder, though a small part of his mind still clung to reality and understood that those were the noises of the door about to give in. He didn't realize they were moving until he found himself in a less intensely lit hallway. Footsteps pounding on the floor had him look up to Willy-, Wily- Wild Kitty Kat- something running up to them.

"What happened?"

"He planned to drug Webb. I tried to talk him down. Next thing I know he takes a stupid syringe for me."

Wildcat raised an unseen eyebrow.

"Can't you two just go to dinner and a movie like a normal battle couple?!"

"Very funny. I'll have a good laugh about it on Sunday." There was a crashing sound. "The police just breached – we need to get out of here!"

"Path is clear to the ground, but we'll never make it whilst carrying him."

"L-Lu... Lea-ve m-m..."

"I'd love to," Wildcat agreed, then took one glance at Canary. "But that's not gonna happen."

They could hear the police assessing the damage to the people and the lab and taking in the evidence. And calling ambulances, but it wouldn't take long before they came for the door ajar to the side of the room, secure the perimeter.

"There's a guard tower behind us, right?," Canary asked. "So, no bars on the windows, right?"

They quickly fell into a concerted effort to carry Oliver to the tower, while Wildcat radioed Spartan to bring the car around. They heard running behind them, then shouting and finally a bullet zinged past them. Wildcat grit his teeth. A little while ago he would have grabbed Canary and high-tailed it out of there without the Green Menace, but then the stupid bastard had to take two arrows to the chest while trying to save civilians and help fight a firebug and... stuff...

The two vigilantes glanced at the window at the same time and sighed. Plucking a bit of metallic string from a pocket in his belt, Wildcat secured their descent by tying it around a concrete column. Then he and Canary grabbed hold of it and Oliver and leaped through the window. The crashing sound, the splintered glass around them, the uncomfortable pull when the cable stopped them just above the ground – he was getting too old for this...

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Hideout)_

Diggle had shown a little hesitation in letting _both_ vigilantes into Oliver's inner sanctum, even after Wildcat pointed out that it wasn't much of a leap to figure out where it was located after discovering his identity. Still, it seemed an additional concession and an unnecessary one at that, for he could very well carry Oliver in on his own. Ultimately, though, the man was heavy and delirious and clinging to Black Canary's shoulder. Diggle could see his partner had a death grip on the woman and winced sympathetically.

So he let the other two heave him down the stairs and instead went ahead, rushing to Oliver's wooden chest. Under Wildcat's attentive eyes, he dug through its contents frantically until he got hold of a small leather pouch. Grabbing a water bottle from a nearby table, he motioned for the other two to hold Oliver down, while he forced some of his Chinese miracle herbs down the billionaire's throat. Oliver writhed on the table, jerking his head away repeatedly, but finally Diggle managed to get him to swallow some of the dry green foliage.

"That's what he gave you when you were poisoned by Deadshot," Canary noted quietly.

"Yeah, Oliver brought it back with him from the island. No idea what it is or if it's even effective against this drug, but it saved his life and mine from Curare so... worth a shot. No pun intended."

The woman nodded slowly. Then their attention refocused on Oliver who finally succumbed to unconsciousness. Diggle immediately checked his pulse and breathing patterns, but they were steady if a little slow. The three of them breathed a collective sigh of relief. Still, they exchanged glances knowing they would have to monitor Oliver very closely for a while. If he didn't get any better soon, they'd have to get him to a hospital for treatment.

"Can't you give them to Thea Queen?", Wildcat asked suddenly.

"I don't know. Oliver doesn't seem to think so, or else he would have done it already. They are feeding her through a naso-gastric tube; sneaking the herbs into her diet..."

There was a moment of awkward silence as they all considered Thea's situation. Diggle briefly turned to the computers to switch on the news. There was no sound, but the live feed from the juvenile correction facility featured several people being loaded into ambulances and police cars, while law enforcement officers rushed in and out of the buildings with bags of evidence. One particular patient caught their eye as Dr Webb was strapped down on the gurney and lifted into the ambulance without much ceremony.

"Hope those work," Wildcat finally admitted. "'Cause explaining Oliver's condition to Starling General's staff and the police would be a pain."

Canary turned around to him, surprised.

"After he planned to drug Dr Webb behind our backs, I was sure you'd want to leave him for the police to find," she explained cautiously.

"The man also got drugged for you. As I told you, I can't argue with his instinct to keep you out of harm's way. Besides, if that drug had hospitalized my little sister... I don't know I would have stopped at just drugging the bastard."

Black Canary took a shaky breath thinking back to Thea Queen, but nodded numbly.

"What about you?", Diggle questioned her. She looked up at him. Then she glanced at Oliver. Sitting down on the table next to him, she brushed a bit of his short hair out of his face.

"I'm not as angry as I thought I'd be. As I should be. I mean, he meant to drug the guy, possibly risk his life, but... like Wildcat said, if that had happened to someone that I love..."

She sighed loudly, annoyed, but unsure if it was with him or herself.

"Things were simpler before I met him."

"Yeah, he has that effect," Diggle admitted with a chuckle, thinking back to his own chosen profession as a bodyguard. His veteran life was definitely divided into a before and after Oliver Queen period. "When he first approached me, I told him he was a murderer. But I didn't call the cops, because... he wants to help and the truth is this city is in dire need of help right about now. And Oliver- Oliver has been giving himself over to that cause. He needs someone to look out for him..."

He looked meaningfully at Black Canary, which seemed to puzzle her. Then he looked over to where Wildcat was exploring the hideout and his heart nearly stopped when he saw the other man pick up a slim folder from the desk to leave through it. Diggle's heart then proceeded to hammer against his ribcage. His face must have had a deer caught in the headlights look, because Canary suddenly became interested in the folder as well, getting up from her spot next to Oliver to move over to her partner.

"Or look out for information for him...", Wildcat chuckled darkly.

"...Can't fault us for being curious," Diggle replied, trying to keep the mood light as Black Canary snatched the folder out of the other man's hands. She quickly thumbed through it. Diggle expected anger or irritation, maybe even disappointment in her reaction, but instead an almost wistful look crossed her face as though she was reliving fond memories. Her reminiscing brought a small smile to the woman's face, before she closed the folder and handed it back to Wildcat.

"You realize of course that we'll be taking this with us," Wildcat then told him. There was a note of challenge in his voice as if he expected Diggle not only to protest, but to actually fight over this. The bodyguard, however, knew better than to engage these two by himself. Even though he spent a split-second considering his gun as an option, he didn't want to shoot either of them and the subtle shift in the atmosphere told him that they were ready for a fight.

He had seen Canary take out heavily armed men without much difficulty before and she'd also held her own against the Dark Archer for a bit, so his chances were slim and grim. He inclined his head to indicate he wasn't willing to fight over this, although he reprimanded himself for not hiding the folder and for letting these two inside in the first place.

"You knew her," he said instead, nodding toward the file and studying Canary's reaction, but this time her face remained impassive. Instead she looked past him at Oliver again.

"We should go," Wildcat murmured softly.

She shook her head.

"I'm staying. You said it yourself; someone needs to look after him and I... He did this for me. I'm not leaving until he wakes up."

"Canary, that could be hours." Even Diggle sounded worried.

She moved over to his prone form and squeezed his hand one more time. "Then it'll be hours..." Her voice was one of acceptance. "Go home, you two. Catch some sleep. I'll let you know when he's up."

She didn't look up again until she heard the door close, but Diggle was still there, obviously uncomfortable with leaving her in their lair on her own. Still, he retreated to the far corner of the room to practice archery, not wanting to burst that little bubble of privacy around the two vigilantes. Laurel nodded at him in thanks, then focused her attention back on Oliver as she continued to stroke his forehead softly.

"Why would you do something so stupid?! You idiot...", she chided him, before going on more quietly. "Thank you."

Time seemed to crawl as they waited in silence. Oliver didn't move, didn't even twitch while the drug hopefully worked its way out of his system. He just lay there, unconscious, unresponsive and nearly burning up. Diggle had brought a couple of blankets with which they tried to keep him warm, but it worried Laurel that she didn't even see his eyes moving under his eyelids as they would if he were dreaming, but she told herself that he'd gotten through worse, including a curare poisoning, before. And the island, of course, and whatever happened to him there.

He would make it through this as well; she just needed to trust in this. Trust him. She didn't let go of his hand, though, hoping and waiting for the moment when she would feel the strength of his fingers close around hers as he squeezed back. She heard Diggle shuffle to her side eventually. He approached her, apparently tired of distracting himself with whatever he had been doing while they waited. She heard him shuffle closer until he stood on the other side of the table on which they'd placed Oliver.

"A bed down here wouldn't be amiss," she said before she could stop herself. Diggle chuckled.

"Yeah, you'd think so, with how often he comes back injured." The bodyguard cracked a smile that faded quickly as he looked down at the man in question. "You're very attached to each other."

Laurel tensed briefly as if it had been an accusation. She had marveled at how close she'd grown to Oliver and the Hood since she'd met them herself, of course. Though, now that attachment – as Diggle called it – made a lot more sense, given that they were the same person. Perhaps part of her had intuited that from the beginning, perhaps it was just coincidence. Perhaps they just thought and acted along similar lines without knowing, creating a sense of closeness they could not shake. Whatever the case, she had no real answer either for Diggle or for herself, so she said the only thing she could; perhaps the only thing that mattered.

"He's a better man than I thought he was."

Another chuckle.

"You and me, both," Diggle admitted to her. He hesitated for a moment while they both looked at their quarry. "Can I ask you something?"

She looked up, surprised. Cocking her head to the side, she nodded. Laurel had an inkling as to what he wanted to talk about, but she was willing to hear him out. Even if she had no answers to offer.

"Why do you do this?", he asked, surprising her again. She had expected a question about the other Woman In Black. "I mean I get why he does what he does, his motivation-"

"I don't," Canary interjected. She waved his sardonic smile away. "I'm not going to ask, don't worry, but I honestly don't see the correlation. I get learning archery to survive on the island and to protect himself from whoever else was there with him, but I just don't see how that translates to becoming a vigilante upon his return."

"How do you know about the other people on the island?"

"How do you know about the other Black Canary?" Meaning that she'd obtained official records.

"So she was Black Canary as well? You adopted the name from her or do you just call her that?"

"I'm her legacy," Laurel stated firmly, thinking back on all those days and nights that she'd heard stories about her mother. Seen the good she had done. Felt safer knowing she and her dead were protecting them. "She was the Black Canary. I just took up her mantle- and Wildcat. And even The Hood to an extent."

"I'm not sure he would agree," Diggle replied, looking back down at Oliver. "We didn't even know she existed until we stole that file. At best, we had vague, half-forgotten-"

"Stories?", she asked. "But that's all you need. It's all I needed... Because stories are ideas and ideas live forever."

Diggle contemplated this. Perhaps, perhaps. But something remained, nagging and scratching at his mind. Some piece of their conversation wouldn't give him peace, yet he could not put his finger on what it was. He opened his mouth, ready to try and formulate a reply, but a groan brought both their foci on Oliver trying to raise himself from the table. Judging by the noises of protest he made, very muscle in his body must be on fire. Not surprising, really, but Diggle knew there was no way too keep him down if he wanted up, so he gently removed Canary's gloved hand from his friend's chest and helped him up instead, letting the blankets fall away.

Taking the hint, the woman helped steady Oliver. He was facing her, but his eyes had remained closed. He swayed dangerously and she had to keep one arm under his to support him. He was sweat-slicked from the fever and shaking in the cool air. For all the unearthly stillness that had clung to him previously, now his whole body was a mass of twitching limbs. He raised a hand to his forehead, probably fighting a headache or nausea or both. Words bubbled up inside her, angry, worried words that tightened her throat as they fought their way to the surface and she swallowed them down.

He could have died. He looked pitiful, this stupid, brave man.

Her hand suddenly hovered next to his cheek when her eyes fell on her cold leather glove. Without thinking about it, she tore it off. Gripping it tightly in the other hand, her fingers brushed against his cheekbone. Oliver's eyes snapped open to fixate on her. He could see her eyes shining behind the mask, until a few tears slipped down her face. He could feel Diggle removing himself from his position behind Oliver's back, even as he raised his hand to wipe the tears away with his thumb. For a moment, her eyes closed and a small, relieved smile bloomed across her pretty face as she leaned into his touch. Then the moment broke and she stepped back hastily as if his fingers burned her skin.

"Thank you," she said formally, but her voice was barely above a whisper and she couldn't look at him. It hurt in his chest, more so when she rushed away. "Don't ever do something so stupid again..."

He wanted to speak, to say something to make her stay, but no words formed in his throat. He could only look on as she ran away from him, his cheek still tingling from her caress.

 **End of chapter 10!**

 **A/N:** I left out the count and replaced him with a random physician based vaguely on the Scarecrow from Batman, because I wasn't really satisfied with the Count's representation in the series. I also didn't give the drug dealer much of a background, because I wanted this to be less about the criminal and more about Oliver and Thea, his motivation and his evolving relationships in and out of the mask.


	11. Chapter 11

**Guardian Angels**

 **Summary:** AU/ After five years in hell, Oliver Queen has returned home with only one goal – to save his city. Unfortunately, nobody told him he'd have to wait in line.

 **A/N:** I feel like I have to apologize to Helena and those among you who commented that Oliver was treating her too harshly.I agree with you by the way, but I feel it is in character for him at this time, so... I'm sorry. Particularly considering the beginning of this chapter, though I hope I give Helena enough credit to hold her own against him.

 **Andrus Tolero:** Wow, that's quite a compliment. I'm glad you enjoy it. The show does seem to take an either-or approach at times including, and maybe especially, Oliver, though in his case I can see how five years alone on an island (never mind the horrors of the Lian Yu) could shape him into such a hard man. I wanted to explore how The Hood and Black Canary would affect each other - that's how this story started. Sometimes I think that's where it risks losing itself.

 **deant33:** I may include mentions of the wider world of superheroes, so you may assume that Supergirl and Superman exist in this fictional world, but currently I'm not planning on having them pay a visit to Starling. Maybe later...

 **crazyaboutMalfoy and hotkillerz:** I like that Ted is more closely involved in this story as well. Funny you should mention him...

And I'm having huge fun with letting Oliver fish in the dark. But all good things must come to an end. (SPOILERS:) I've mapped out the basic plot twist for the next few chapters and it looks like by chapter 13 Laurel's luck is up.

 **Chapter 11: Allegiances**

Oliver watched quietly from a corner. There was no doubt that his quarry had seen him, but she continued as if nothing were amiss, barely even glancing his way during the entire session. However, he did notice that her punches and kicks became swifter, stronger – all her anger at him was taken out on the sandbag. She was not in uniform, instead she wore a pair of sweatpants and a purple t-shirt, hanging loosely down past her waist. A few final vicious hits and kicks and she angrily shoved the sandbag away from herself with a huff. She still preferred not to look at him as she made her way over to grab her towel and the water bottle waiting for her a few feet away. She twisted the cap off unceremoniously and gulped down half the bottle before setting it down and wiping her mouth. Finally, she acknowledged him with a dark look in his direction.

He took that as his cue to approach her, while she sat down on a nearby bench. Lifting her duffle bag onto the bench, she made it clear that he wasn't invited to sit down with her. Oliver sighed internally at her display of rage. Sometimes the two women vigilantes in his life made him feel stuck between a rock and a hard place; they were both usually angry with him and hated each other's guts... He rolled his eyes at himself. When he came to stop in front of her, he waited for a quiet minute until she raised her head at him. He had her attention. Then he waited another few seconds to make sure she kept her attention on him.

"I know you're upset," he began quietly. "You lost someone – it doesn't matter that you barely knew him; you were trying to save him and you lost him. I know what that feels like."

She scoffed.

"It makes you want to give up. Retreat into a shell and never interact with anybody again, in case you fail them too. I have failed friends and comrades before, but I also failed myself every time I failed them... and it is crippling. But you can't let that beat you! The people you fail; they're not a reason to give up, they're a reason to keep on fighting-"

"Maybe I don't want to fight anymore!" she snarled at him. "Maybe I don't have it in me."

"You did after the shooting at Queen Consolidated Plaza," he reminded her. "Despite the potential collateral damage-"

"I didn't mean to hurt Mrs Queen!"

"But you didn't let it deter you, either! And that's how you pull through. You focus on your goal and you pursue it for yourself and for all the people you failed... and you do better this time!"

"My goal is to take down my father and I tried your method, or don't you remember?! And he got away! Where is he now?! He got away!"

"But the man who actually killed Michael did not."

There was a tense silence for a moment as they were reminded that he had been the one to kill him in the end, not Helena. She glowered at him, but Oliver was past apologizing for it. He held her stare from underneath the mask until she calmed down and looked away.

"Nothing we can do about your father at the moment," he reminded her, "except make sure you're ready when the time comes... Isn't that why you still train here?"

He let that sink in, her eyes rising to his masked and darkened face in surprise. She looked away almost instantly, choosing to take another swig from her water bottle rather than answer him. She seemed calmer now, more receptive to what he was telling her. So he knelt down to be eye level with her, a hand on her knee to catch her attention. It took her a moment, but finally she reluctantly turned her head back to face him.

"Let me help you," he asked her again.

She neither scoffed, nor glared. He took that as a good sign and retreated before she could change her mind. He disappeared, first into the darkness of the far corner of the room, then into the early morning hours. It was still dark out, the air fresh and livening. He took a deep breath before climbing onto his motorbike. He had to see a woman about a drug, but it was still a bit early to meet her, so he opted to patrol for a little longer. He started his patrol at Starling General as he had for the past couple of days, looking in on Thea for a brief moment. She was still fighting for consciousness and he and his mother were going crazy waiting for her to wake up. Oliver cringed when he saw her through her window from his spot on a roof across. Her prone form, tiny and half-hidden by the hospital bed and medical machinery was the stuff of his nightmares. He gripped his bow tighter, until he had to look away. This was why it was so essential for him to get Yao Fei's herbs in for analysis. Maybe their properties could be synthesized or changed into a form that could be ingested through a naso-gastric tube or even an IV.

Maybe they could give him his little sister back...

Not to mention all the other victims of the drug. His eyes fell onto the prison wing of Starling General. Somewhere in there was Dr Webb, lying prone just like Thea as his body was ravaged by the drug. Oliver expected a sense of grim accomplishment to surface, but mostly he was just empty. While Webb had certainly deserved what he'd gotten, drugging him hadn't actually accomplished much of anything. Sure, the drug dealer was paying for what he'd done, but his sister was still in a coma and the doctors still didn't know how to help her. Perhaps if Webb were awake, he could have helped them... though Oliver seriously doubted that he would have, even to make a deal with the DA.

" _She'll be okay. Thea is the strongest, most stubborn kid I know. She'll pull through,"_ Diggle tried to reassure him. Oliver was only half listening. Things had been a bit frosty between the two of them since Oliver had woken up from the drugs and found out that not only had his partner let the other two vigilantes into their lair (something he'd already done with Black Canary, but which he conveniently ignored), but he'd also let them take the only real lead on Black Canary's identity away with them. Now they were back at the starting point!

"Yes, thank you, Spartan," he said with irritation. "Let's keep radio silence unless there's something going on..."

He heard a sigh from the other side, but Diggle wisely remained quiet. Oliver felt a little guilty. He didn't mean to be so harsh; he was just so exasperated. Every little thing seemed to grate on him. More than it should and it made him snappy.

" _Yeah, well, there is one thing that might interest you: Cyrus Vanch has been released from prison."_

"Is he on the list?" The name didn't seem familiar, but, well, his father left a very long list.

" _He is. He's been charged with at least fifty-two counts of homicide as well as ties to human trafficking and drug running. He'd been sentenced to three consecutive life sentences, but was released two days ago after eight months in prison due to lack of evidence."_

"Lack of evidence? After the trial?"

" _Apparently one of the key witnesses has disappeared,"_ Diggle replied grimly over the comm.

"Sounds like a charmer."

" _Yeah, he makes you look like a new-born kitten, but there's more. Your favorite attorney represented some of his victims' families and there's been talk that CNRI is already planning to fight his release."_

Oliver had been in a constant state of agitation ever since getting the call about his sister being drugged. On most nights, he put that agitation to good use crossing some names of the list and stopping random crimes he found throughout the city with extreme prejudice. It took very little for him to put all that fidgety energy into action as he made his way over to Laurel's apartment. A quick glance from a close-by roof found it empty and he wondered where she'd gone at five in the morning when something below him caught his attention. An arm came out of a car window below him to snap off some cigarette ash. Upon closer inspection, he noticed a number of cigarettes on the ground outside that window.

"Someone is staking out Laurel's apartment," he informed Diggle.

" _Could be Vanch's men,"_ the bodyguard agreed.

Using one of his cable arrows, he dropped himself onto the car. As the doors opened on both sides at the noise, he threw a dart at the man riding shotgun, catching him in the shoulder, while jumping down onto the driver. Similar to how he had seen Canary flip the young Reston, he brought the other man onto the ground. Pulling out a knife from his right boot, he lay the cold blade flat against the man's frightened face as he bent over his captive. He heard the sound of a gun being pulled and threw another dart. When the injured man rounded the car, one arm cradled carefully at his side, the firearm was knocked clean out of his hand and landed several feet away. Oliver dug the blade in hard enough to draw a thin streak of blood.

"Don't move," he ordered the other man harshly.

"Okay, okay," the man on his feet agreed quickly. "What do you want?!"

"I want you to get into the car, drive away and not come back."

"Okay," they both repeated in unison.

"Tell Vanch that he better make reparations and then leave my town."

There was a moment of hesitation as confusion crossed both men's faces. Then the man who was standing moved his hand to the inside of his pocket. Oliver's knife moved from his captive's cheek to his throat.

"Easy, easy, I'm not going for a weapon," the other man said and produced a badge.

"You're police?"

"Yeah, Detective Lance placed us here when Vanch was released two days ago," the man on the ground told him. "Miss Lance and Vanch crossed blades in court, so to speak, and Detective Lance fears he might come after her." There was a tremble in his voice as he said it that made Oliver narrow his eyes, but his story made sense. He remembered the two officers who'd been posted to Laurel's building when she'd gone after Somers. Detective Lance was certainly a protective father who would deploy a unit to watch his daughter's home when a dangerous criminal was on the loose with her in his cross-hairs.

"I thought he had," Oliver murmured, more to himself. He let the other officer up, but not without removing the gun from its holster and sliding it under the car. Both men looked at him strangely. "She isn't here."

It was a statement, but both officers knew it was really a question.

"She is at CNRI. Went into work early."

"If she made it there," the vigilante reminded them, then used another cable arrow to get back up to the roof and rush over to CNRI. There was no reason for Laurel to be at CNRI before the crack of dawn, unless she hoped to meet someone who preferred the dark cover of night. He vaguely remembered her mentioning something about meeting him on the roof again, so he wasn't surprised that when he got there, Laurel was already on the roof. He took a quick glance around, perhaps not as thoroughly as he normally would and should, but enough to ascertain that no one was hiding in the shadows on the roof of CNRI or one of the adjacent buildings. Laurel was leaning against the roof access booth, looking down at something in her hand, but she looked up when she heard him land on the roof. A hesitant smile came over her face when she saw him and he noticed her grip on the object tighten. It was a small velvet box, the right size for a bracelet or a large brooch. Suddenly, dead certainty about what was in that velvet box flooded over him along with memories of the fireman who fell into the raging inferno at Stagg Chemical. His chest constricted as he thought about it and he flinched away when she threatened to bring it closer by stepping toward him. Startled, she stopped dead in her tracks for a moment, but then decided to approach him anyway to hold out the badge.

He shook his head.

"I don't deserve it."

"Danny's mother thinks you do. She had her daughter extract the promise from me to make sure you get it. She wants you to have her son's badge and it's been sitting in my desk drawer long enough," Laurel said with conviction and finality. She took another step closer, laying the box gently against his chest, the object novel, but the weight familiar. He grasped it hesitantly. When she let go, he studied it for a moment, but didn't open it. He kept it in his hand, the weight both comforting and challenging.

"I wish this was the only reason I came to wait on the roof, but..."

"Cyrus Vanch," he offered.

"I'm sorry."

"What do you need?"

"Something to send him back to prison...", she suggested sheepishly. "Somebody got rid of the key witness right after Vanch's attorney filed for an appeal of the sentence. There's been a lot of back and forth since, but ultimately they had to let him go. He can't be allowed back out onto the streets. Every day he is free is like someone is spitting on his victims' graves and twisting knifes in the backs of their family members and-"

"There'll be more victims."

"Yes, and more heartbroken families. I can't get to him, not without evidence. And he'll be looking at me."

"You represented the families; wouldn't he rather look at the DA."

"The DA has been put under guard; it's not that easy with a civilian. And I'm not running from him. I don't need protection. I don't need a shield... I need..."

"A sword to slay the dragon with," he teased, earning himself a chuckle.

Their merriment was interrupted by a clicking noise. They both startled at it, looking suspiciously around for its origin. Oliver drew nearer to Laurel, in case it was Vanch's men come for her after all.

"What was that?", she asked him.

"We're not alone," he mumbled, just as the roof access door slammed open to let Quentin Lance and a bunch of police officers out onto to roof. Without hesitation, Oliver grabbed hold of Laurel, turning her around in his grip and hiding his body behind her. The velvet box fell from his hand and landed cluttering on the ground, making Oliver grit his teeth, but he had a hostage to focus on now. He knew she was safe; they wouldn't fire at them while she could get hurt. And, despite what the police may think, he knew he wouldn't hurt her either. He wondered if she knew that and scrutinized her reaction. Her breathing had quickened, therefore so had her pulse, but she wasn't tense. He had hopes that she wasn't afraid of him this time. "You're safe. I won't hurt you... I'm sorry."

He felt her nod imperceptibly and squeeze his arm around her throat even as his other hand held a sharp dart to its vulnerable flesh.

"Dad!", she called out, her focus back on the police officers in front of her while he dragged her over to the edge of the roof.

"You so much as hurt a hair on her head and I'll drag you down to hell myself!", Lance barked at him angrily.

"I'll help you," he whispered into Laurel's hair instead of answering her father. Then he shoved her in the direction of the officers and used the confusion to jump over the edge of the roof. Another cable arrow caught, depositing him gently on the ground and he dashed for the cover of a nearby alley right away just as the police officers began to fire from the roof.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Helena's apartment)_

She had gone straight home from her chat with the vigilante. She wondered if he'd hoped to inspire her. Perhaps some time ago it would have worked, but now she was too focused on another quarry. She turned on the twenty-four hour news channel for Starling City and removed the painting above her couch from the wall. When she turned it around, she found her puzzle of news clips and pictures she had taken still intact, so it was unlikely that he or the bird bitch had found it. She had divided it into two sides, one covering all the information released about the green-clad vigilante and some of the notes she had gotten from the police file she had stolen.

On the other were mostly pictures she had taken of the drug deal Oliver Queen had arranged. After she'd sent Black Canary away, she had made her own way to the meeting point and situated herself where she had a good view, but would be unlikely to get involved in the action. Additionally, she had jotted down what she remembered of the fight in Oliver's room when the assassin had come to eliminate the vigilante thinking they were the same person.

At the time she'd dismissed the idea for two reasons. Firstly, because the vigilante had been seen elsewhere in the city that night. And secondly, because Oliver had relied heavily on her protection during the confrontation. Or so it had seemed at the time. After seeing him dash through the exchange of fire between drug dealers and police officers to run after the chemist, she wasn't so sure anymore. She remembered him searching for something to swing at the attacker, but there had also been a moment when he'd directly engaged the man. A kick and then he'd moved as if to outright attack, but by then she'd intervened again. Now she wondered what would have been if she had been a second slower.

As for the vigilante sighting, she had placed a cut-out article about that in the middle of her makeshift board. If her suspicions were correct, it would have had to be someone else. Mr Diggle came to mind automatically, but the vigilante was unmistakably Caucasian even with only the lower half of his face exposed. On the other hand, it had been the dead of night and only one arrow had been recovered from the scene. Everyone else had been taken down with guns and Helena doubted that had all been friendly fire.

However, Müller got away and could not confirm if he'd seen something and those who had gotten arrested had made no mention of the vigilante's skin color. Did that mean there had been no difference to other sightings to report or had they simply not noticed in all the confusion or not recalled? Helena scoffed at herself; Diggle would make perfect sense and people often saw what they expected to see. They were notoriously unreliable witnesses. Still, all she had were her suspicions. She needed something concrete if she wanted to get out from under his blackmailing thumb. It would only be half a victory without birdie's name, too, but perhaps she could turn the tables on the Hood... on Oliver and wrangle his partner's name from him.

A noise from the TV made her look up to see the vigilante almost surrounded on a rooftop, his arm around a well-dressed woman he was using as a shield. Helena squinted, only to recognize Laurel Lance herself. Now she truly scoffed as she watched him back away to the edge of the roof and push Ms Lance right into the police.

"Her handsome hero... (1)", she taunted quietly.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Queen Consolidated)_

The way to the IT Department was almost more familiar now than the way to his father's and now Walter's office, despite all the times he'd visited it in his youth. Ever since his return from Lian Yu, he had made repeated use of tech-savvy Felicity Smoak's particular skill set to help him find the information he needed. What he would ask of her today fell outside the scope of her duties at Queen Consolidated and most likely also outside her area of expertise, but he hoped that she might be able to run and interpret the necessary tests for him anyway. He didn't know anyone else who might even remotely be capable of helping him on this. If only Tommy had majored in biochem... Oliver chuckled a little, unable to imagine his best friend in a white lab coat.

He rounded the corner finding Felicity hunched over something, not looking at her screen. Her reaction to him was peculiar to say the least. When she heard his steps approach, she straightened herself and hastily shoved whatever she had been studying so intensely into a drawer of her desk, closing it with an audible thump. Her face was flushed, with adrenalin and embarrassment no doubt. Her breathing was a bit faster than he expected and she actually bothered to pretend that she'd been working on her computer, even though she had to realize that he'd seen her... He hadn't, unfortunately, caught even a glimpse of the object, which made him peak curiously at the top of the desk, wishing for x-ray vision in order to see through it and into the drawer.

"Mr Qu- I mean, Oliver – what can I do for you?", she greeted with a smile that was too bright and too innocent even for her vivacious personality. He narrowed his eyes at her, but she merely smiled wider in order to deflect him. Internally, he shrugged. Maybe she was having trouble with a boyfriend. So, instead of pressing the matter further, he pulled the small plastic bag out of his pocket and held it out to her. The dried leaves inside made her push rapidly back from the desk. "Whoa, no – I don't – uh, you can't smoke in here!"

Rather than getting offended at her thinking he was a pothead, Oliver smiled softly at her as if she'd make an amusing joke. Then he proceeded to lay the bag on her desk. He noticed her eyes followed the little plastic bag and that she approached it for a closer inspection once he'd laid it down. A frown appeared on her face when she picked it up spontaneously a moment later, holding it under the light of her desk lamp for examination.

"That's not weed," she finally concluded, biting her lip. "Sorry, it's just – when somebody comes in here with a bag of leaves, I... Uhm, I didn't take you for tea guy."

"It's not tea either," Oliver replied calmly. Well, it could be, but that was neither here nor there.

"Okay, then I'm officially out of plants one would possibly bring into my office... Actually, come to think of it, what are you doing in my office with... not-weed, not-tea...leaves?"

"Did you hear about my sister?"

She nodded. "I was so sorry to hear about what happened to her. Is she any better?"

"About the same," he sighed, then he fixed her gaze with his. "I did something stupid shortly after I saw her at the hospital. I...uh, I arranged for a meeting with the drug dealer in hopes of finding something to take to the police or, I don't know, maybe a cure or something..."

"Yeah, that was stupid..." Then she noticed his gaze. "She said, unnecessarily repeating the reason he beat himself up- sorry. I heard about it on the news, yeah. The police aren't pressing charges... Go on."

"I was drugged before the police got control of the situation, but one of the vigilantes gave me some of this to swallow right away and... well-"

"You're not in the hospital," she concluded, refocusing her eyes on the leaves with renewed fascination. "You think this could help the other victims, including your sister?"

"That's what I'm hoping, but she can't exactly swallow them at the moment, so..."

"So...?"

"I was wondering if you could find out what makes them so effective and, I dunno, synthesize it or something."

"Or something?", she asked, a little incredulously. Then Felicity caught herself, once she saw the openly desperate look on his face. This was just like the meeting with the drug dealer for Oliver. A last hope that he desperately clung to. He wanted to help his sister, but he had no idea how. So he grasped onto the idea with the leaves and pursued it as best as he could. For all she knew, she was the only person he knew with a science background, though there must be a couple of doctors at least among the rich and powerful, right? Why come to her? Why not go directly to Queen Consolidated Research Lab or, hell, even just hand these leaves over to Starling General- She stopped herself on that thought. Most people who practiced allopathic medicine probably wouldn't think all that much of someone showing up and giving them a miracle weed, no pun intended. She looked back up at Oliver. "I'm an IT expert, not a biochemist, Oliver. I'm not sure what I'd be looking for, or even looking at once the results come in."

He visibly deflated.

"Have you shown this to the police? Or one of the people who treated you at Starling General?"

He shook his head.

"The vigilantes saved my life. More than once. If there's even a chance this could lead back to them..." She watched his face become contrite. He obviously felt a great deal of gratitude toward Starling City's Guardian Angels. Felicity narrowed her eyes, wondering, not for the first time, how much of that was an act. If this could demonstrate his connection to the Hood or even get someone closer to one of the other vigilantes, it made sense to come to someone who wasn't so closely connected to the investigation as the police or the hospital.

"I may know someone...", she managed. "Who can look at this, discretely."

A good bit of tension fell away from him then, making her automatically feel better as well. He nodded at her gratefully, but as he turned around to leave a thought crossed her mind. She pulled open the drawer and grasped the object inside. The sound alone made him hover on the spot as he turned back to face her. She looked down at the small thing, hesitant. She wondered if she really should place all her cards on the table, just yet. Glancing up at him, she tried to get the measure of him, tried to gauge what he would do. Tried to decide whether she would be in any danger once he realized how close she was to knowing his secret, if it was his secret...

"Do you know when Mr Steele might be back?", she asked, stalling.

The question caught him by surprise. He hadn't even thought of Walter once, since this whole mess with Thea started. Now his thoughts were thrown into turmoil as he wondered why his step-father had not yet returned. He must have heard of Thea's hospitalization. It had been on the news and surely his mother told him... Then he thought back to the strange tension between the two of them when Walter had announced to leave for the Australian office and wondered if she had, in fact, told him. Or spoken to him at all since that day.

"I... I haven't heard from him," he admitted to Felicity, who nodded gravely. Then she pulled out something that almost knocked him off his feet. A small, leather-bound booklet. For a second, his mind shifted to the same little booklet in his hideout, wondering if it was indeed still there and how she may have gotten her hands on it. Then his logical side realized that it must be a different book and his gaze zeroed in on the small bound volume. He practically snatched it out of Felicity's hands and leaved through it, finding the same names as in his own.

"So you have seen it before," she confirmed, wondering if this had been recently or five years ago. "Mr Steele apparently found it hidden in the room he... uh.. the room he shares with your mother..."

Oliver slumped against the desk. He heard her get up and round the table to stand beside him.

"Quite a few names on that list have been attacked by the green archer. I was helping your step-father investigate how your mother and these people may have been connected."

She looked at him for a moment, but it was clear that he was shocked and she doubted she would get an answer. He kept staring at the list of names in the book in silence, so she decided to go get him a glass of water and give him a few minutes to himself, but when she returned Oliver Queen was gone.

And so was the book.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(SCPD)_

The precinct was full of people bustling about despite the early morning hour at which their little enterprise had started. Laurel looked about with some irritation as officers rushed her by, but no one would meet her eye. Unsurprising, given what she'd just been through. She noticed Detective Hall was amongst the ask force that had rushed out onto the roof; a nice promotion for the investigator from vice, but even she avoided facing the attorney, focusing instead on a pile of forms that needed filling out. Laurel blinked a few times when the sun hit her face. The hours had progressed to mid-morning in the time she'd been looked at by a paramedic ("No, really, I'm fine!"), given a statement ("I was never in any danger until you turned up.") and waited for someone to toughen up an face her with an explanation/apology for using her for an ambush. So by the time her father wrenched himself free to find her at his desk, she was late for work after all and silently fuming.

"Sorry, it's been a little crazy-"

"Yeah, I saw."

Her father ducked his head for a brief moment before attempting an explanation.

"Look, you know you were never in any danger, right? It's my job to do everything to catch this bastard, but I'd never let you come to any harm."

Laurel wanted to push, thought about it, but ultimately decided that it would just make things worse at the moment. She was way too angry with him for this conversation and he was way too convinced he did the right thing. And then there were her own secrets to consider... They both needed time to cool off and think this through, or else they'd say things they didn't really mean, but couldn't take back.

"If I'm free to go, I need to get to work," she finally announced. "I've got a case to prepare."

"Oh, yeah, I'll give you a lift," her father offered and Laurel almost did a double take at the smile he gave her. Did he think that just because she didn't argue with him, he was off the hook for putting her on his hook to catch the Hood? She couldn't, wouldn't leave him with the impression that everything was fine and dandy between them; that wouldn't be fair to either of them.

"No, dad. I'll take a cab."

"It's really not a big deal," he urged, but deflated when she squared her jaw.

"I can't... do this right now. You used me, your own daughter! As I told the officer who took my statement, I was never in any danger until you turned up-"

"Oh, and you playing Maid Marian to that psychopath – don't you think that twists a knife in my back?!"

"So, turnabout is fair play – that's your argument?!", she asked incredulously.

He sighed.

"No!... Look, let me drive you to work and we can talk this out and-"

"No, dad. I can't right now... I just can't."

She turned away without another word, aware of all the stares from the officers who were done pretending not to listen. She briefly caught Hall's eyes, but the woman looked away immediately. The stares followed her out the door and then they probably swiveled back to her father once she was out of sight. Stepping out into the still fresh morning air did nothing to calm her nerves, nor did the sunshine that hit her face, bright and warm. She flagged down a cab and shook her head at herself, unsure where to go from there with her father. Her own secrets tore at her heart right then, but her father hated both the Hood and Oliver enough that she couldn't tell him what she'd discovered. She didn't have it in her. In the relatively short amount of time that she had worked with him both as Laurel and as Black Canary she'd come to trust him and rely on him. With a bitter sense of guilt she vowed to herself to keep his secret unless he did something truly drastic.

She didn't think he would.

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 _(Vanch Residence, that evening)_

"Have somebody take out the trash, darling," Cyrus remarked casually, looking down at his dead lawyer. The man who'd managed his estate and embezzled from it had paid the ultimate price for his lack of loyalty. He'd kept Vivian out of it, so she could run his business without being overly scrutinized, but George's mismanagement had interfered more than he'd anticipated. He could easily hire a new lawyer, but loyal footmen were apparently a commodity these days. Vanch crinkled his nose at the body with pure contempt. The man had not done him any favors, chipping away at his connections and diminishing his reputation over the last few months he'd spent in prison. He moved into the kitchen, walking to the sink to wash his hands. His official release and other formalities had taken up much of the day, but come tomorrow he would start rebuilding his empire.

Moving goods, rather than owning or selling them, had given him the freedom to work with a variety of organized crime families without either having to swear allegiance to one or become their target. He needed to rebuild his service. His name would open a few doors, but he'd have to make a significant contribution to the criminal underworld to reestablish trust relations his lawyer had let wear. While one of his guards switched on the TV for him, he contemplated how best to show his god faith and trustworthiness. If he didn't want to upset any of the established powers, he couldn't go after a shipment not entrusted to him, so he needed to find a target outside the established base, such as a new guy in town who was grating on everyone else by encroaching their territory.

"The police confiscated much of Bertinelli's possessions, including his drugs, right?", he asked Vivian the a thought came to him. "Taking it back and distributing the wares among Starling's finest or even selling them for our own profit would send a powerful message not just to our former clients, but also to the cops. We're back in business."

She nodded, but bit her lips and came around the kitchen table to grasp his hand. He intertwined his fingers with her and looked at her quizzically. He knew that look on her face. She always wore it if something was bothering her. Since she had no trouble with swiping drugs and weapons from the police or a bit of good old-fashioned violence, he knew it must be about something else.

"What is it, Viv?"

"George suggested to keep a low profile for a while to-"

"The maggot," he muttered.

"-avoid you going back to prison. And that lawyer is already mounting another attack on you, Cy. We should at least take care of her first," she suggested, unperturbed by his anger.

He considered her for a moment. He knew exactly which lawyer his girlfriend was referring to and unadulterated rage bubbled inside him at the thought of her. Vivian had a point insofar as Ms Lance's passionate representation of the victims' families had led to her going after him much more intensely than even the DA. And he didn't doubt for a second that she wouldn't rest until he was back at Iron Heights, a goal in regards to which he had no intention of accommodating her. The witch hunt she would start to get him back behind bars would put a serious dampener on his business. No one wanted to hire a contractor so openly accosted by the law, so Vivian was right; he needed to take Laurel Lance out first.

A noise distracted him briefly, but he refocused on Vivian after only a moment.

"You're right. Laurel Lance poses a problem that we need to deal with. The same way we dealt with her and the DA's key witness."

He and Vivian shared a grin.

Sudden gunfire had both of them duck behind the kitchen table. Cyrus crept forward to see what was going on and just about caught a glimpse of a green-clad form disappearing into the underbrush. He narrowed his eyes. Vivian had briefly told him about this new vigilante on the way down from Iron Heights. He had imagined that he'd clash with the guy eventually, just as he'd clashed with his female – and, from what he'd been told, much softer – counterpart almost a year ago now, but he hadn't expected it to be quite so soon. He'd only just arrived after several months in prison, which left him wondering what he might have done to upset the man already. Or was this merely a warning? As he got up, he caught sight of a blinking light in the corner of his eye. Turning toward it he saw an arrow had been edged into a nearby column, no doubt causing the sound he'd noticed earlier.

His eyes then fell on the TV screen and Cyrus did a double take. Motioning for the remote, he had one of his guards turn on the sound. He listened intensely as the reporter commented what had transpired on the roof of Lance's legal aid firm that morning. The news channel had gotten a lucky shot of the green-clad vigilante using Lance as a shield to evade the police when they stormed the roof. Cyrus' mind immediately went to consider what the lawyer may have been doing up there in the first place. Irrespective of whether she'd assisted the police or simply gotten caught in the crossfire, there was obviously more to her story with the vigilante than met the eye. Since she met with him mere hours before the vigilante staged his home invasion, he didn't believe for a second that the two weren't connected. A new plan formed in his mind. A new, daring plan that would solve most of his main problems at once.

"Time to kill two birds with one stone," he murmured with a grin as he pulled the arrow from the wall.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Laurel's apartment)_

The civilian police car still sitting opposite her building she'd expected since she had spotted it days ago. At the time she'd just figured that her father was worried given the disappearance of the key witness in the Cyrus Vanch case, but now she suspected it had been there to see if they could trap Oliver. Her irritation flared to the surface once more, but she still managed to offer the two officers a nod and something that at least vaguely resembled a grateful smile. What she hadn't expected was Tommy Merlyn standing outside the main door to her building, looking at her expectantly as she came home. It had rained quite profusely earlier and given that the umbrella hanging at his side was still wet, he must have been waiting for her for a while. She wondered why he hadn't simply come to CNRI – although, if he had seen the news and was here to lecture her, she was grateful that he hadn't. With a nod of the head she motioned him inside.

"Are you okay?", was the first thing she asked.

"Yeah, I'm good." When his gaze remained unsure, she went on. "He wasn't going to hurt me."

"Good."

She turned to him with surprise.

"He saved you at Iron Heights. If he wanted you hurt, he could have done it then. Or simply sat idly by."

Well, that was a valid argument, at least for someone who didn't know just how good Laurel was at kicking ass. But she was immensely glad that somebody saw things from her perspective for once today. She'd already gotten a couple of looks and murmurs behind her back that obviously questioned her sanity. Her only ray of sunshine had been Joanna's worried call, because her friend had been as outraged as her that her father would use her to lure the Hood into a trap. Joanna had even asked if the vigilante had made it out okay, her trust in him unshakable after he brought Danny's killer to justice.

"That doesn't mean you should make this a habit, though. He is still dangerous and so are his enemies, I would imagine," Tommy interrupted her internal musings.

"His enemies aren't interested in me."

"Is that why there's police outside your door?", he countered, unconvinced.

"No, they're there to trap him," she told him. "And because of Cyrus Vanch."

She lifted the stack of folders she had tucked underneath her arm for a moment to emphasize her point. She had brought some of the case files home with her to keep prepping for the inevitable court case. She'd helped put Vanch in prison in the first place and she'd damn well do it again. That man was a monster.

"Yeah, I heard... Are you sure you want to stay here? You can stay at my place. I've got a guest room and the building has round-the-clock security. A-and Vanch would find it more difficult to find you somewhere else, right?"

Laurel hesitated for a moment. It was a really sweet offer, particularly given that the risk he would be taking on. She, however, knew exactly the extent to which Vanch would go to silence someone and was only waiting for the news that their witness had been found washed ashore somewhere on discovered in a ditch. She was not willing to put a target on Tommy's – sweet, innocent, good-hearted Tommy – back. So she shook her head, slowly, sadly, and grasped his hand to squeeze softly.

"I won't put anyone else at risk."

He nodded, as if he had expected that answer. Perhaps he had, but he still accompanied her to her door and then inside. She narrowed her eyes at him, about to make a comment that he wasn't staying over to look after her either, when she saw him checking her kitchen and switching the light on and off as if to make sure they worked. When he caught her gaze, she rolled her eyes and made for the living room, where she immediately dropped her files and her purse once she switched the light on. Her gasp of surprise drew Tommy into the room, brandishing his umbrella like a weapon, but then he hesitated when he, too, saw the Hood crouching against a stretch of wall between two windows. His bow was in his lap and his hands up in the air to indicate that he hadn't come to harm them. Tommy slowly lowered his umbrella, but maintained a tight grip on it nonetheless.

"What are you doing here?", Laurel asked, the first to regain her composure. "Are you nuts?! There's a police car outside!"

"Yeah, we had a chat early this morning," he admitted with a chuckle at her raised eyebrow. She exchanged a look with Tommy. "I'm sorry if I...if I'm interrupting anything..."

Startled, they both shook their heads.

"Tommy was just worried over the news of Cyrus Van- are you here about him? Did you find something?"

"Yes, and it's not good. His residence is too heavily fortified, so I couldn't get close, but I got this..." There was a moment of hesitation then.

He sighed heavily, standing up carefully avoiding the windows. His bow moved from his lap to his non-dominant hand to leaning against the wall. He moved forward extending a small silvery gadget toward her. He played them the conversation between Vanch and his girlfriend and despite the vague terms of their threat, all of them understood implicitly what was meant.

"That's it," Tommy announced, "you're coming home with me. You'll be safer there."

"You won't be," Laurel countered, shaking her head. "I told you, I'm not dragging you into this."

"You're not dragging me into anything... but I'll drag you if necessary," he replied gravely.

She stared him down, unimpressed.

"You couldn't handle a couple of bouncers, but you plan to kidnap me?"

"Laurel-" Tommy protested, glaring at her for both her stubborn attitude and the mention of the club incident.

"I'll stay with her."

They both looked up.

"I'll stay with you tonight and then you can drop of the recording with your father or the courts tomorrow and get protective custody." Not that that would stop him from going after Vanch to prevent him from killing Laurel. He just needed to get his allies on board.

"...Yeah, dad tried that when I discovered boys. It didn't take then, either."

"Laurel," both men protested in unison.

"I won't stop living my life because of this man. I'll just work harder to put him back in prison where he belongs. I won't live in fear."

The finality in her tone made both men sigh, even as Laurel herself picked up her files and went over to her desk.

"Now, Tommy, if you're staying, could you make some hot cocoa for all of us. I work better on chocolate..."

After another set of baffled looks that she ignored in favor of settling into her work, she noticed him moving toward the kitchen and smirked to herself. Tommy didn't stay the whole night, since he got a call from his father that ended in an argument judging by the side of the conversation she could hear. He gave her an apologetic smile and a firm warning to be careful, before nodding at the Hood and leaving for home. There was companionable silence after that as the Hood had returned to sitting against her wall, trying to avoid the scrutiny of her police detail. It was late when Laurel finally decided to stop brooding over the files in an attempt to build a case without their key witness, but ultimately the constant yawning made work impossible and she had to postpone worrying herself sick to tomorrow.

When she got up and moved to rinse her mug (he hadn't even touched his), then brush her teeth, she realized that he followed her around the apartment. Perhaps it was because he wanted to remain inconspicuous or because he wanted to give her what little privacy he could, but she noticed that he kept himself at a distance. Perhaps he was just protecting his secret identity... In any case, when he began scanning her bedroom for a comfortable sitting position, she drew the line, so she picked up a pillow and her blanket and moved them to the couch. Having Oliver/The Hood in her apartment was one thing, but her bedroom was too... intimate. She picked up a second blanket when he sat back down with his back against the couch once he realized her intention and handed it to him.

"I have no intention of sleeping," he told her gravely.

"I know. That doesn't mean you should get cold, sitting on the floor."

She killed the light and moved back to the couch to curl up under her own blanket, but she didn't try to sleep immediately. Instead she studied him as furtively as she could. His brush with death or coma due to the drug he'd been injected with had scared her. He'd been burning up half the night fighting off its influence with the help of the herbs. When he'd finally woken up from that, he'd been deathly pale and weak as a newborn kitten. He'd shaken all over as he tried to straighten himself up and had leaned heavily on her when he found that he couldn't do so immediately. The toll it had taken on his body had been palpable. That was more than a week ago now and he seemed back to himself, but she kept flashing back to the pale, twitching mass of limbs he'd been in those early morning hours. She had half wanted to give him a lecture about the stupidly chivalrous act that had nearly cost him his life, half envelop him in a hug, so ultimately, of course, she'd fled the lair with barely a word to either him or Diggle, her voice shaking as much as Oliver did.

She wondered how badly he'd taken that. She hadn't been out much as Black Canary after that, once the news of Cyrus Vanch's impending release had hit the media and she'd commenced burying herself in the evidence. She felt their gazes meet when he turned to face her, perhaps sensing her attention on him. Her hand moved to softly rest on his shoulder and his gloved one came to cover it gently. Taking in a deep breath, she held his eyes in the dark.

"I won't let anything happen to you," he promised quietly.

She chuckled bitterly.

"Even you can't promise that."

She didn't wait for his answer, merely squeezed his shoulder and curled herself into her couch. Laurel was a quick sleeper, so it didn't take long before she was out like a light. Hours passed; Oliver watched her shaded face in the darkness. He couldn't really make out whether she looked calm or worried in her sleep, but he could hope. Her grip had loosened considerably with sleep, but his hand came up to cover hers nonetheless. He squeezed it gently in return and, he hoped, in reassurance. He hadn't been completely honest; he had no intention of sleeping, true, but he was also not quite sure he could sleep if he wanted to. He had vowed to keep a distance from Laurel for both their sakes. He shouldn't drag her into his world, even if only by association, and he couldn't afford the liability she presented. An emotional attachment threatened to cloud his judgment and could be used against him if somebody found out about it.

This morning had exemplified that, when he'd nearly killed two police officers because he'd thought them a threat to her. He looked up at her face again. All his fears had already come to pass. He'd let so many people back into his life. Some he'd been close to before – his family and Tommy – some he'd approached out of necessity – Diggle and Felicity... and Laurel, he supposed. Some more out of intrigue, like Canary, Helena... and Laurel again. Of all of them the last two had come the closest to his truest self, one way or another. And while he was wary of Helena, not that he'd admit that out loud, she'd sneaked up on him sideways when he hadn't expected to get along with her, while Laurel had dived headfirst into his life and become his... something.

More than a friend, but less than she could be and it terrified him. But here they were. He held her hand more tightly, unwilling to let go and lose the connection. Perhaps Diggle had been onto something. Perhaps she didn't have to be a weakness, perhaps he could draw on her affection and friendship for strength. Perhaps he could draw on all of the people in his life for strength and not be so alone, even when he was all hooded up and unapproachable. The sudden tightness of his grip startled her awake. Her upper body came up into a sitting position faster than he could react, her hand ripping itself out of his grip for her arm to come around his throat. The awkward position she held herself in gave him ample opportunity to throw her off, but instead the Hood held absolutely still, even as he struggled to breathe through her choke. A second later the pressure was gone and her panicked murmur of apologies filtered into his consciousness. His eyes remained narrowed as he turned around to face her, his instincts wary, wondering what this lawyer before him had gone through to make her so cut-throat in the morning. He was like that, post-island. He'd nearly choked his mother that first night she and Walter had come into the room unannounced while he'd been asleep. He couldn't imagine Laurel going through anything traumatic enough to cause these defensive instincts. Could the attack on her at Iron Heights really have been so distressing? Had something else happened since he'd returned, or before then, when he had not yet known her? Her self-defense instructor was ex-military; maybe he had instilled this combat-readiness in her during training?

"Not exactly a good way to start the morning," she mumbled.

Before he could answer, there was a knock on the door. He was up in a split-second.

"Would Vanch really knock?", she asked as she got up. "Besides, I'm pretty sure it's my dad come to smooth things over. We had a bit of a falling out after he used me as fucking bait..."

Nonetheless, he followed a few steps behind her to the door. Which was just as well, because as soon as she opened it, a hand grabbed for her and pulled her roughly into the hallway. She felt a fist to the stomach. Even doubling over, she remembered to grab onto the man in front of her and ram her bent arm against his breast bone. She heard and felt it crunch under the assault, so she moved on to press two fingers into the small triangle where his throat met the bones of his shoulder. The sudden discomfort had the man gasp for breath, so she could focus on the man behind her. The Hood had him in a vice-like grip around the chest, apparently having reached for him as he tried to follow her to where his partner had thrust her into the hallway. She took hold of the man's head and smashed it into the wall with the Hood's help. He went down immediately. The two of them stood over Vanch's men, panting. Finally, the Hood stepped over the unconscious guy to pull Laurel behind him and punch out the remaining assailant. Then he turned to her, his head averted to avoid her seeing his face, even as one hand stroked carefully through her hair.

"Are you alright?"

"Y-yeah... you? I never thought he'd actually go this far... You need to leave. I have to call this in."

"Wait," he called when he spotted something peaking out from underneath one of their assailants' shirts. He barely noticed the doors to the other apartments opening as the neighbors inquired after the noise, nor their surprised and sometimes frightened gasps at seeing him with Laurel and two men on the ground. Unperturbed, he picked out the items he had spotted and held the zip ties up for Laurel's inspection. She grasped them out of his hand without missing a beat and began to tie their two aggressors up.

"Well, at least these will come in handy."

"They weren't here to kill you, they came to kidnap you," he muttered darkly.

"Why? So he can finish me himself?"

Oliver narrowed his eyes.

"I'm not giving him another chance."

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

When he finally reached his daughter's floor, he pushed passed colleagues and residence until he caught a glance of Laurel. He felt some of the tension leaving his body even as his step faltered as he thought back to their last conversation. He wondered if she would want him here. In their exchange she had made it clear that she needed some distance, but that hardly counted when she had just nearly been killed. Vanch's men had already been removed from the premises, which was just as well because he felt like using them for target practic for trying to hurt his little girl. He resumed his movement, swiftly closing in on Laurel. She was talking to a uniformed officer, no doubt giving her statement. His movement must have caught her attention, because she looked up and they locked eyes for a split second. She didn't seem angry or like she was about to send him away, so Quentin figured circumstances had created a temporary truce.

She nodded at him, so he approached further. He had almost reached her, when a hand on his arm stopped him and pulled him back. An officer he didn't recognize pulled him aside to give him some of the details of the event. He pointed at several neighbors and summarized some of their statements. Quentin was about to tell him to shove it, because his only interest right then was in talking to his daughter and making sure she was safe. And hopefully bullying her into protective custody. But the officer had something else to say.

"Several witnesses place the hooded vigilante at the scene, sir. Mr Shaw, who lives two doors down from your daughter, claims he saw the vigilante emerge from her apartment after the altercation had already started."

Quentin took a moment to look wide-eyed at the uniform, letting sink in exactly what he'd said and all the implications that came with it. He looked back at Laurel. She seemed to realize that something had changed, because her face turned first inquisitive, then severe. There was an edge about her, though, a vulnerability in her eyes that raised a father's instinct, so he turned to the officer and questioned him with some measure of irritation.

"So, what you're saying is, in addition to being attacked by Vanch's assassins, that lunatic broke into her apartment. One more reason to put her into protective custody, now she has to listen to me. Thank you, officer."

With that, he marched away and finally reached Laurel. Even though a thousand questions burned on his tongue, the first thing he did was hug her tightly to himself. Stroking over her hair and pulling back, he assured himself that she was all in one piece – flushed from the adrenalin and the exertion, but fundamentally okay. Her eyes flitted about a bit every few seconds as if checking for further dangers. She was alert, but clearly unafraid. She shared that trait with her mother; something that had driven Quentin mad on several occasions with either woman.

"What was the Hood doing here? What was he doing in your home?!"

He might have wanted to keep the accusation out of his tone, but when Laurel's jaw hardened, he knew it was too late for that.

"He saved my life," she hissed out between clenched teeth.

"Yes, he's getting into the habit of that, I'll admit – you know, when he's not putting a blade to your throat-"

"Only because you used me as bait and stormed the roof-"

"Because you had to play Maid Marian to Robin Hood. Is that what you see in him? Because he isn't, Laurel, he's a-"

Laurel stepped back, huffing. Holding up a hand, she got him to quiet down, mostly because she was turning away from him and he didn't want that. Not when he'd almost lost her that morning. Quentin sighed and tried to calm himself down. Counting to ten only helped a little.

"What was he doing here?", he asked again, as calmly as possible.

"He was there when I woke up," she ground out with reluctant, begrudging calm. "To apologize for putting me in danger. Then there was someone at the door and I thought it was you, also come to apologize for this morning. When it wasn't..."

She didn't finish that sentence, but he followed her gaze across the dents and cracks the fight caused in the walls of the hall. He didn't have to imagine what happened. Or what could have happened. He sighed again.

"I'm glad you're alright."

That was the only thing worth saying.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(The Hideout)_

He would have to wait for nightfall, though, so before Oliver did anything else he went to meet Diggle in their lair under the club. Using the side entrance he spared himself necessary explanations for his friend Tommy, whom he had seen hard at work if slightly distracted as he'd approached the building. He would make sure to pass by upstairs a little later. Diggle was waiting for him in front of the row of computers, following a brief news story about the attempted kidnapping. The reporter mentioned that Laurel had apparently turned down police custody even after the traumatic events of the early morning. Oliver couldn't help but grit his teeth at the news. Not that he'd expected any different, but he'd clung to hope that she would do the sensible thing, instead of the foolishly brave one, for once.

"You made the news," Diggle informed him, muting the live report and pulling up a new clip.

" _The police has expressed concern at the numerous witness reports that have placed Starling City's Emerald Archer on the scene. Residents have reacted with mixed feelings, many worried to fall into his cross-hairs, though they unanimously credited the vigilante with the failure of Ms Lance's attempted kidnapping-"_

Diggle cut the feed, turning to him expectantly. Oliver merely shrugged. He was not that concerned that police and residents were worried about his presence. He was simply infinitely grateful that he'd been able to help prevent Vanch's men from taking her.

"This is good, Oliver. It helps changing the view of The Hood from a ruthless killer to -"

"A hero?," he finished for his bodyguard and scoffed. "I'm no hero, Dig, and I don't care what people think of me. I'm not doing it to be liked."

"But what you do could be easier if people trusted you."

Oliver pondered this, briefly. He knew Diggle had a point, but he didn't have the time to invest in good public relations.

"As for not being a hero," Diggle continued, looking back at the muted feed as it went on about the kidnapping attempt, "you could be... You are liberating this city of much of its criminal population."

Oliver suddenly flinched as he remembered it. The object in his pocket. He had barely thought about it again after he had pilfered it from Felicity's office when she'd gone to get water, presuming him in shock. His mind had been so full of Vanch and what he might have planned that he hadn't really had the time to worry about the implication of the little thing. Now, though, that Diggle had inadvertently reminded him of it, the booklet seemed to weigh a ton and burn a hole in his pocket at the same time. He suppressed the urge to reach for it, for now.

"Vanch's residence is a fortress. I'm going to need help if I'm to get in."

Diggle nodded.

"You know that will limit your... uh... freedom of movement," the veteran tried to paraphrase it as nicely as he could imagine. He watched Oliver's face contort first into a scowl, then into a sigh. The sound was neither angry nor resigned though, so Diggle was unsure what he thought on the matter. He watched calmly as Oliver pulled out the phone and placed it in front of both of them as it dialed. He had put it on speaker for convenience, but for endless seconds all they heard was its ringing tone. It took so long that they thought she wouldn't answer and Oliver was about to cut the call angrily when suddenly the line clicked.

"Canary?", he asked warily.

"She's busy; can I help?", asked Wildcat's distorted voice.

"Busy with what?", Diggle asked, before he could stop himself.

After a moment of silence and a sigh, Wildcat asked: "Does this have to do with Cyrus Vanch?"

"You know him?"

"We worked to get evidence and take him down before he was arrested and the recent news burst is hard to miss – good work, by the way. What do you need?"

"Backup. I'm not giving him a chance to recover, but his place has heavy security. I can't take him on my own."

"When?"

"Tonight, round nine. He lives on the periphery, so it should be dark and empty."

"Aside from his goons... Alright, I'll be there," Wildcat promised darkly, then the line shut off, before either Oliver or Diggle could question him on it. They looked at each other in shock.

"What could keep her so busy that Wildcat takes this job?", Diggle wondered out loud.

Oliver narrowed his eyes. He was plenty surprised himself; it was not like her to just disappear. The only other time she'd done it was during his trial for vigilantism. Suspicion pooled in his stomach, churning at the parallelisms. She hadn't come to confront him then, but then neither had she turned up at the arms deal Diggle disrupted. Either she had chosen to observe from a distance, or... Or what? Was the nagging doubt that slithered through his thoughts even feasible? There were so many people in his life that he was uncertain about, could he truly bear the weight of even one more doubt? His hand went into the pocket to retrieve the object hidden inside without a thought, pulling it up to look at it once again. Diggle noticed the movement and stared at him in confusion.

"You want to cross some names off, today? Other than Vanch's, I mean."

"It's not mine," Oliver told him, making Diggle narrow his eyes. "Apparently, Walter found it... He thought it was my mother's."

Diggle's eyes widened in surprise.

"What... What are you going to do?"

"Well, obviously, he was wrong. My father must have kept it in the bedroom."

"Your father gave his to you," Diggle pointed out and Oliver glared at him, but the bodyguard didn't back down.

"He could have made a second copy."

"That looks exactly like the original – whichever one is the original..."

"A decoy." He was grasping at straws and he knew it. The look Diggle gave him showed him that the other man knew it too. Still, it was a plausible explanation. His mother couldn't be involved in any of this. Her name was not on the list, even though, technically, neither was his father's.

"Maybe you're too close to this, Oliver. I could look around a bit, see if I can find something."

"No," he shot Diggle down emphatically. He would not have him spy on his mother of all people.

"Oliver-"

"My mother has nothing to do with this. She wouldn't-"

"You want to think the best of your mother, I understand; just like I'm sure you thought the best of your father before the Gambit."

Oliver schooled his features carefully to hide his flinch. He didn't want to admit that his friend's statement had hit so close to home, but Diggle had gotten the point across elegantly. He had thought he'd known his father, known what kind of man his father was, until the man himself had turned it all upside down and inside out with his confession and suicide. He hadn't truly known Robert Queen and now, truth be told, he wasn't so sure about his mother either. Or anyone, for that matter. He had kept these doubts buried, but the booklet left him little room for denial. He would have to put these demons to rest, sooner or later.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Queen Consolidated)_

"I was tempted to just throw it in the trash," Felicity admitted without glancing up when he walked into her office a little later. Oliver stopped short briefly, then his mind caught up with some panic. He couldn't help the glance he hastily threw at the trash bin, innocuously posited next to her desk. When he looked back at Felicity, she had raised her gaze warily and angrily at him. It did not change even as he attempted to smile in a winning fashion to assuage her irritation with him. She scoffed at him instead and her look suddenly turned accusatory. "You just up and left, with the booklet."

She stood up then, stretched herself to her full height in heels. Still shorter than him and dressed in brightly colored garments, Oliver didn't think it had the effect she had hoped it would. He certainly didn't feel threatened, though he realized how important this issue was to her. She marched briskly around the desk to stand in front of him, her hand open in a silent challenge. Oliver cocked his head to the side. He had no intention of returning the booklet and had, in fact, not brought it with him, but if he wanted her to cooperate, he would have to find some common ground with the IT expert.

"Mr Steele and I were investigating this, so I need that booklet back."

"So am I. And I dare say I'll probably have better chances than you at getting to the bottom of it."

"Oh, of course. Because of your extensive scientific background, investigative skill and your degree from... which of the four colleges you were thrown out of?.. makes you the world's greatest detective."

She had sass; he had to give her that.

"I don't think your pretty face will buy you much here."

"I actually thought I'd just _ask_ mom about it," he told her. Felicity deflated a bit, but quickly found her footing again.

"What if she doesn't give you a straight answer?"

Oliver hesitated. He'd been thinking that, on and off when he hadn't managed to distract himself with other things or hold on to his denial, since he'd first laid eyes on the second list. Revealing his doubts to Felicity, though she'd always been helpful and extremely resourceful, seemed to admit a vulnerability, however, that he was uncomfortable with.

"I can outsource," he answered evasively.

"You mean like every time you come here to ask me for a favor..."

Oliver sighed internally. That woman had a witty repertoire for every occasion, it seemed. She wasn't wrong, though. He had come to her for help repeatedly and so far he had not been disappointed.

"...Point taken," Oliver conceded. "We could certainly look into it together, but I don't have the booklet with me right now and it's not why I'm here."

Felicity leaned back against the desk, a little more relaxed now that he seemed to have conceded to her involvement. She wondered what Mr Steele would think of this arrangement, but given that he'd all but disappeared she had little choice. She needed an ally as much as Oliver did, even if she wasn't sure hers was not a homicidal vigilante with a Robin Hood complex. She exhaled slowly, chastising herself. It wasn't as though everything about the Hood was bad. Some of the news seemed to paint him more as an anti-hero, someone with fundamentally good intentions. Of course, the road to hell was proverbially paved with good intentions... She glanced up at Oliver's calm, expectant and still softly smiling face. It was difficult to reconcile his contrary, but mild-mannered behavior with reports of roof-diving acrobatics and deadly force. Felicity scrunched up her nose; she could think on this more tomorrow if she really wanted a headache. For now she would content herself with getting a booklet-less Oliver Queen out of her office, clear about the understanding that no more favors would be forthcoming until they had resolved their dispute over the book.

She waved a hand vaguely in his direction.

"I forwarded them to a biochemist I know. He'll get back to me."

Oliver waited for her to elaborate, but nothing happened.

"When will that be? Hours, days...?"

"...More like days, weeks or months. Synthesizing a drug takes time and he has to do this under the radar."

"My sister can't wait months."

"Then you should try the authorities or convincing the doctors to give her the herbs themselves through gastric intubation," Felictiy defended her friend, crossing her arms in front of her chest in irritation. What did he think her response would be? That her friend had magically snapped his fingers and a synthetic drug had assembled itself?

Oliver fumed a little. He couldn't go to the authorities and if the police – particularly one detective – heard of a miracle herb curing his sister, he was sure to have another witch hunt on his hands. Especially when the police lab or the hospital realized the herbs provenance in East Asia. It would take very little to connect the dots then, not that Lance wasn't already wary and out for his blood due to what happened to Sara. And all he knew was that Sara had died on the boat; if he knew the real story, the detective would probably take Oliver out to sea again and make sure that he truly did drown this time. Oliver shook himself when the images surfaced, mentally scrambling to reassemble his defenses. Now was not the time to ponder Sara's fate.

On the other hand, his sister needed him. He had already watched idly while they stuck her full of tubes and drugs that had little to no effect. Sometimes he wondered what kind of a brother the island had made him that he hesitated. Even though he doubted the doctors would listen to him about Yao Fei's herbal remedy, he should have at least tried. Or perhaps he should break into the hospital again and administer it himself. An inelegant solution, but at least no one would look too closely at Oliver Queen, because they'd focus on the Hood. His sister was being fed through some kind of a tube, though, and he wasn't sure how best to administer the herbs. He glanced up at Felicity. Perhaps she could give him some pointers... First, though, there was something else he needed.

He exhaled slowly to refocus himself.

"...I actually came for something else. I was wondering if you could pull up some building plans for me."

"Have you considered the public library. They do store building plans in the archives. For historical research and... stuff."

"Publicly accessible?"

"Well, you'd need to request-"

"I'd need them now."

"You realize you're asking me to hack a public institution, right?"

He smiled through thin lips.

"The booklet," she prompted, her face all hard lines.

"I'll ask my mother about it. If I don't get anywhere, I'll be on your doorstep the next day," he promised easily. She eyed him suspiciously, but nodded once, before going back to her computer. He watched her work quietly behind the screen, not daring to make a sound except when she asked which building, in case she changed her mind. When he told her which building, _that_ raised her eyebrows. Her mouth opened as if she intended to say something – most likely to question his sanity – but then she chose not to comment. It took quite a while, though he kept his mouth shut and did his damnest not to look at his watch. On one of the few occasions where his impatience got the better of him, she told him calmly, but in no uncertain terms that hacking wasn't like walking into a store and filling a shopping cart. He found the analogy somewhat curious, but merely nodded when she then handed him the printed copies a few minutes later.

"I'll see you soon," she reminded him as he approached the door.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(CNRI)_

Laurel closed the last case file with some satisfaction. She was tired. The day had started terribly and had basically continued that way. It had been long and filled with paperwork and the two police officers her father had tried to stick her with despite their earlier argument had not made it better. He'd had the wisdom not to come to tell her himself, but his partner had looked ever more uncomfortable the longer he went on and the stormier Laurel's face grew. There had been lots of hissing, barking and raised voices, but finally they'd found a compromise of sorts. The police couldn't technically force protective custody on her, not without a court order. But she couldn't prevent them from patrolling outside CNRI, keeping watch over the building and her from a distance that allowed her to breathe – not to mention, pretend they weren't there!

Though she did have to watch herself a little, remember that they were indeed there and not do anything that would give away her secret identity. Not that there would be a lot of activity from Black Canary in the next few days. She was so tied up with Vanch's case that she was bone tired. She hadn't been sleeping well since his release. Even before that, if she was honest with herself, but now the days were a struggle. She had to focus all her energy on putting him back behind bars and that could only work with evidence. She had spent today gathering everything they'd already had on Vanch from the previous trial, carrying up all the boxes they'd stored away in the cellar and going through them. Adding what the Hood had discovered, Laurel and her team had put together a pretty good argument for the judge tomorrow. They'd gone so far as to do a couple of trial runs in the conference room with their new staffer Anastasia, filling in for Joanna, as opposing council trying to shoot down all of their carefully crafted arguments. There was no way she'd be at one hundred per cent tonight, even she had to admit that. And doing this while she was barely conscious – at least that was how she felt at the moment – would be suicidal. Ted would never even let her near her armor in the state she was in.

She switched her light off and stood. Today was the first day she wouldn't be taking work home with her. She figured the day before she had to appear in front of the judge it was better to relax than try to cram even more into her brain. The stress would just make her forget it all. Laurel stretched briefly, feeling some kinks working themselves out briefly, only to settle right back into place. She thought briefly of taking a good soak in her tub, but with what happened that morning that wasn't a very good idea. She didn't know when the next attack would come, so she better stick to a quick, functional shower. A little bit of disappointment settled into her stomach then, even though it was silly of her to feel that way over a missed opportunity for a stupid bath. She shook her head free of the thoughts and turned to the door, only to find Anastasia waiting for her.

"I know there's a police escort waiting for you outside, but I'm coming down with you," she told Laurel in a tone that allowed no room for argument.

"You might just be putting yourself in danger. I won't let that happen," Laurel replied anyway, indicating for her to go ahead.

"Maybe I could decide that for myself?", Anastasia retorted just as quickly, linking her arm with Laurel's and dragging her toward the elevator. Laurel sighed in resignation at having company, but pulled her new colleague toward the stairs instead.

"Better chances to run away," she explained. "If you're trapped in an elevator with someone who wants to hurt you, you've got nowhere to go." She then also bent down to take of her heels, indicating for a reluctant Anastasia to do the same.

"A wise policy," a voice said.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Vanch Residence)_

The first few went down without a fight. They didn't even notice the two vigilantes were there until it was already too late. As he'd announced, Wildcat had been the one to meet Oliver in the shadows some ways away from the entrance to Vanch's mansion. Oliver had narrowed his eyes at the other man, but he'd been unaffected by his death glare and had instead suggested they get a move on. When he'd made his way over the wall without further ado, Oliver had had no choice but to follow. Wildcat had grabbed the first guard and begun to choke them into unconsciousness. Oliver had not given himself such problems and simply shot the man patrolling a few feet away when he turned toward them. His body tensed for a moment, expecting a fight of some kind or at least a dirty look, but nothing came. Wildcat simply moved on to the next triplet of guards, Oliver close behind. While his shot created a moment of distraction, Wildcat jumped straight into the fray, punching one guard in the gut and locking their arms so he could throw him at the other. While they still stumbled together, he followed it up with a swift kick to the stomach, pushing them backward until one cracked his head against the outer wall of the house and fell forward. To avoid his falling comrade the other man stepped further away toward where the vigilante was waiting to knock him out with a punch to the face, but an arrow embedded itself into his chest first.

Wildcat seemed a bit non-plussed at this missed opportunity for a moment, but when he noted the shuffling on the roof he jumped back into action. He heard one of Oliver's arrows zing past, then a muffled groan and a body falling from the roof, but Ted was already climbing the wall to get the other one, while Oliver drew their fire. His knees protested rather painfully at the movements, making him grind his teeth to avoid making a sound and drawing attention to himself. When he finally made it over the roof, he grunted with the effort. He had no time to rest, though, as the nearest sniper was backing up to turn his gun on him. Rushing his opponent, Ted kicked the rifle straight out of his hands, one of which he stomped on with his combat boots for good measure. The sickening crunch and pained scream gave him a certain amount of satisfaction, so he kicked the guy in the ribs as well. He felt some of them give, even as the henchmen deliberately rolled with his kick to diminish some of its impact. He heard shuffling behind him and turned straight around to punch him in the face. His attacker had an arrow embedded in his hand. It must have been a recent hit, because he'd only just dropped the gun when Ted's fist collided with his nose. The man stumbled back and straight off the roof.

A flash of green in his periphery alerted Wildcat to the fact that Oliver was moving on to the next target. He made sure to knock the lights out of the guy lying curled up on the floor behind him, then quickly disassembled both the gun and the rifle and threw the parts in opposite directions. With a satisfied smirk he noticed that it took him no time at all. The resounding splash coming from the other side of the roof told him, however, that Oliver certainly hadn't wasted any time either. Ted took to running. He barely caught a glimpse of a black-clad figure approaching his green ally, while he was otherwise occupied, before he leaped down on top of him from the roof.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

Cindy was always very alert when she walked through the Glades at night. Or, really, any other time of day. Having her friend with her did not make a difference either. She knew how quickly the mood could change in a district like the Glades. One minute, everything was quiet, and the next, you lie bleeding (dying) on the sidewalk. So she always kept an extra eye out when she walked along the streets. So when she spotted a parked car – the same parked car she'd seen that morning when she'd passed this street to get to work – she knew something was off. If that hadn't tipped her off, the suspiciously still figures inside certainly made her warning bells ring loudly. One hand went straight into her jacket pocket to where she kept her pepper spray, while the other balled into a fist, ready to be swung at whatever malfeasant she'd encounter. She started to make a wide berth around the car until getting a better look at the people inside made her stop dead in her tracks and then scramble even further away, hand moving from her pepper spray to fumble for her phone. _Call help_ , she told herself. _Call the police, then_ _get the hell out of here_ _!_

It took a little while before her body obeyed her thoughts and she jumped into action. The conversation on the emergency line wasn't exactly easy either, since she was horrified at the sight before her, but found herself unable to look away. She didn't give her name, even though the officer asked for it repeatedly. When no other question were posed but that one, she hung up unceremoniously. Trying to will her head to turn and her feet to move to the other side of the road took some effort, but eventually she began to move on shaky legs. As the sight drifted out of her peripheral vision, she stared straight ahead, practically locking her head in position. She was going to have a few chinks in her neck tomorrow, but the hairs on the back of it were still standing up and when she spotted a drunk woman literally crawling out of a building on the other side, goosebumps spread across her skin. Dead drunk, by the looks of it. _Lawyers_ , she thought; they all had a burn out in their mid-thirties. Well, at least the woman still managed to pull herself to her feet – by a lamppost. Scoffing and sighing, she resolved to at least call the woman a cab. She could hardly leave her here with two dead cops. In retrospect, why it didn't occur to her that the woman might be involved in something way worse than binge-drinking given the dead cops with slit throats across the street from her office, she couldn't fathom. She would curse herself for several days, but right then, grasping a shoulder to get the woman's attention, she suddenly noticed the men who had followed her outside.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(CNRI)_

Things had gone to hell quickly. From the moment the strange voice had filled the hall, events had progressed in short order. Laurel hadn't waited for confirmation of hostility, particularly as she noticed two more men coming up the stairs and more coming down to crowd around them. She'd grabbed Anastasia and shoved her down the stairs rather unceremoniously. As planned, she'd crashed into one of the approaching men, who, on instinct, had reached out to catch her, thus softening her fall. Luckily, the attorney had caught on quickly and rammed her elbow into his kidney twice and once more into his head before rubbing her head in confusion or checking if all her bones were still intact. All of this, Laurel only caught out of the corner of her eye, because even as she'd thrown her new colleague, she'd already leaped down the stairs as well, crashing knee-first into the other man's face. He would have gone down immediately, but Laurel held onto him and twisted. Finding purchase on the floor, she used their momentum combined with her own strength to flip him down the second set of stairs.

She herself landed in a crouch, but quickly jumped up again when she noticed the others rushing toward her and Anastasia now. She grabbed the other woman's hand again and they headed down the stairs, though not before Anastasia threw one of her heels into an assailant's face. How she'd managed to hold onto them through the hustle, Laurel would never know, but if the situation weren't so dire, the sight of one of (no doubt) Vanch's henchmen getting struck by a six-inch heel would have been hilarious. Instead of laughing the two women leaped over the prone form at the bottom and raced down two more flights of stairs with their attackers hot on their heels (pun intended), before Laurel felt Anastasia being ripped from her. Her momentum had her stumbling forward another few steps even as her body was torn backward because she tried desperately to hold on to her friend. Being torn in two different directions had her miss a step, falling down eight more stairs. Without assessing her possible injuries or even focusing on getting up again, Laurel raised her head to look for her friend. Anastasia had been pulled back into the very man who'd been hit by her shoe, but he'd apparently not factored in her second heel, which the attorney rammed heel-first into his face. His eye was wounded and bled profusely, but Anastasia showed no hesitance in pressing her thumb into the bleeding wound to make him let go of her and back up. Her knee rose to connect with his crotch repeatedly as well until the man crumpled away from her. She threw her heel at the next attacker and rushed down to help a stunned Laurel to her feet.

"Dad made me take Krav Maga since I was eight," she huffed by way of explanation.

Once Laurel was back on her feet, the women moved to make a break for the door, but suddenly someone else was in their way, an electric glow emitting from a little piece of machinery in his hand.

"Love a woman who can take care of herself," he complimented haughtily, even as he approached them. Laurel's heart doubled its speed inside her chest as she fumbled to get Anastasia behind her. Just as Cyrus Vanch moved in for the kill, though, the other woman surprised her by pushing her away across the room, while moving herself into the man's trajectory. The sound of the stunner was as sickening as the sight of her friend's whole body shaking uncontrollably under its effect. Anastasia fell to the floor in a heap once Vanch stepped back with a grin. Her body was still trembling, but her eyes had rolled back into her head.

Laurel felt so sick she had trouble fighting down her gag reflex. She'd landed on the ground only a few feet away and hadn't thought to move (stupid, stupid, stupid) while she'd been disgustingly captivated by the sight of Vanch's attack. His men were hanging back on the staircase, two of them supporting the guy Anastasia had taken out and one more carrying the one she'd thrown down the stairs fireman style. Laurel cast a quick glance at them. Most seemed uncaring, almost apathetic, but the bleeding goon was grinning down at her friend's prone form, making anger boil in her stomach. Looking back at Vanch, she noticed that he was approaching her now. In one swift move, Laurel was on her feet. Even as his men tensed, Vanch seemed unperturbed. He continued to approach her, the taser flashing now and again when he activated it to make her heart rate spike. Strangely enough, even though a moment ago his presence made her heart beat in her throat, now she was completely calm. Her muscles were tense, ready to pounce, but her heartbeat had slowed and her head was clear. She was waiting for him to approach, to step closer.

Another step.

A beat.

Then another.

And another.

He stopped. He was in range, but she waited for him to make the first moved. His grin grew a little wider when he saw her eye his taser, thinking perhaps that she was wary or fearful.

"Love a woman who can take care of herself," he repeated slowly, delighting in the anticipation of his punch line. "...but can't block a taser."

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

Wildcat blocked a fist and twisted his assailant's arm until he'd led him in front of his own body where he was hit by friendly fire almost immediately. Ted thanked his lucky star briefly, then shoved the man forward into the next and used him as a springboard in order to leap over the other man and pull him across his back. His foot came down on the man's chest, pushing it inward until he felt the ribs give way. Another leaped toward him, but Oliver whisked around to place an arrow in his throat. The man stumbled back until he leaned against a glass wall that separated the terrace and pool area from the inside of the mansion. Ted and Oliver shared a look. He'd been the last one and the sudden calm was too much for their nerves. Without needing to speak, they stepped forward to kick him swiftly through the glass, shards scattering across the floor and crunching underneath their boots as they stepped over him.

The house was mostly dark and quiet, the only glint of light coming from the kitchen. When they entered, everything was quiet until a split second later a gun cocked next to Oliver's head. He reacted without thinking, knocking it out of the woman's hands. A shot got loose, luckily embedding itself into the tiled floor. The sound made Ted jump briefly; it had been very close to his partner's head. A moment later, the woman had her arm twisted on her back as she was secured against the wall. Ted's stomach revolted a little, because instead of showing fear, the woman laughed lowly in the face of her defeat. Oliver twisted her arm a little further, interrupting her laughter with an agonized yelp, but her sadistic grin soon returned. The two vigilantes looked at each other quizzically. This was not a reaction they'd expected.

"Where's Cyrus Vanch?", Oliver asked in his customary dark tone.

"You're too late," the woman cackled back at them.

"Where's he fled?"

She only laughed harder.

"Cy's not a coward. He doesn't run. Certainly not from men in tights..."

Dread settled in Ted so quickly, his knees almost buckled. He extracted the woman forcefully from the Hood's death grip, bringing her face-to-mask with him, a threatening scowl the only feature she could make out.

"Where is he? Off to deal with some business? The Triads, the Yakuza, who?!"

Her grin only grew wider.

"Nothing so fancy. It's rather a quaint little business... in the Glades."

Ted's stomach dropped. He could tell by the sudden stiffness in Oliver's shoulders that he'd caught the implication. Wildcat turned the woman around to tie her up with zip ties, before rushing out of the house. Her cackling laughter and her taunting haunted their footsteps.

"You're too late! You were always too late!"

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(CNRI)_

Without noticing, she must have hit her head on something when Anastasia shoved her out of the way. She was dizzy and her skull was drumming painfully as if someone tried to drill a hole in it while she was wide awake. She risked a glance behind her; it wasn't far from the truth. She dreaded to think what would await her if Vanch got his hands on her. In retrospect, given her head injury, blocking his strike with the taser and twisting both their bodies until he flew back into his band of merry lunatics hadn't been such a great idea. Her head had spun from the movement, so when Laurel had let go, her own legs had given out under her. It was a good thing that they'd already reached the ground floor, since she now stumbled and crawled her way toward the door, all the while praying to god above that Vanch and his men were too busy delighting in their hunt of her to pay any attention to Anastasia still unconscious on the floor.

"Oh, but I can," she'd taunted him for good measure. It had kept his attention firmly on her.

She made it out the door, holding onto it for a moment longer for support, before wildly slamming it in Vanch's general direction. An amused chuckle was her only answer. Laurel gritted her teeth. Her vision was a little blurry and she wondered how she hadn't realized immediately that she'd hurt her head, but she had been so taken by the anger and the fear and the determination to survive this that she hadn't paid enough attention. Cursing under her breath, she made her way carefully across the sidewalk until she could grab onto a street light. Gratefully, she clung to it, used it to pull herself to her feet, catch her breath for a few precious seconds until she heard the door open again. She heard an indistinct voice coming from somewhere to her side. Not Vanch, she knew that much if only because it sounded concerned. She wanted to tell what she assumed to be a concerned citizen to run, to call for help, but instead she turned herself around. She leaned much of her weight against the street light and focused all of her attention on the approaching gaggle of scumbags. No one seemed to carry an unconscious woman; Laurel counted that as a win.

"End of the line, Ms Lance."

Laurel leaned her head back and laughed. Or tried to anyway; it came out as a choked, hysterical giggle. She was out in the open, now. More chances to run, but he was right. This was the end of the line. She had everywhere to run, but not the coordination for it. Or the patience. She thought of Ted and Oliver, who were likely tearing down his mansion as they spoke. When they didn't find him inside, they'd put two and two together and come rushing here to save her, no doubt. Irritation boiled in her, spilled over into fury. There had been all too much 'saving her' going on lately. She shouldn't need saving. She _didn't_ need a hero; she was not a fucking damsel in distress!

She closed her eyes. Stupid pride.

A hand reached out to the unknown person next to her. Wary as they were, they were still hovering close, talking calmly – trying to talk down Cyrus Vanch. He pushed the taser in their direction and lit it. Just as Laurel managed to take hold of the other person's shoulder – small and slender, probably a woman, she just about had the time to think – a few things happened all at once. Vanch began to advance the final few steps. The person next to her pulled something out of their pocket and held it in his face. Vanch recoiled when something sharp filled the air. And instead of using her grip, as she'd intended, to push the other woman (probably) away, Laurel tightened her grip to support herself as she moved to kick Vanch swiftly in the face. He hit the ground with a satisfied thud that Laurel could enjoy even though she saw his goons home in on her even through the fog around her consciousness. A sharp, loud noise shook the night, another body hit the ground. Then there were lights everywhere, blue and red and white, rustling clothes and angry shouts and someone picked the semi-conscious Vanch of the floor only to punch him in the face twice before someone else pulled them away. Pulled them toward Laurel and then she was in her father's arms and she was crying and her legs didn't hold her up any more and she didn't fucking know why! He was talking soothingly to her, guiding her to a medic. The unknown woman was pulled with her because Laurel wouldn't let go, because she didn't even know she was still holding on. She vaguely heard herself alert her father to Anastasia lying unconscious inside the building while she tried to keep her eyes open despite the bright light the medic was shining into them.

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When they arrived at CNRI – or thereabouts – the police presence was already lighting up the area like a Christmas tree. They spotted an ambulance speeding away and nearly followed without thinking, but then they noticed that, in all that chaos, Laurel Lance was a small figure huddled in blankets and sitting on the hood of a squad car. Her father was next to her, pulling her to himself. Ted breathed a sigh of relief. There was a bandage around her head, but otherwise she seemed fine. A tapping on his shoulder had him divert his gaze. Oliver was pointing at where an apparently groggy Cyrus Vanch was ushered unceremoniously into police car, handcuffs already firmly in place. Another woman was talking to a police officer nearby and repeatedly pointing at Vanch. Both Laurel and Detective Lance were watching carefully until the car sped away from the scene.

"All is well that ends well, I suppose," Ted stated quietly. "I'll make sure the police know to check Vanch's mansion, soon... Guess our involvement ends here."

He looked at Oliver, but the hood was drawn deep over his face making his features unreadable. Ted shrugged; he hadn't really expected an answer or for the Hood to engage him in small talk anyway. Rising from his crouched position on the roof, he made to walk away, but Oliver's sudden comment made him stop dead in his tracks.

"She doesn't have to avoid me," he murmured.

It was so low, Ted almost didn't catch it.

"What happened at the drug lab... a-and in the foundry..." He hesitated, searching for the right words. Finally, he repeated: "She doesn't have to avoid me."

Ted knew he was talking about Black Canary, but Oliver hadn't turned around and was still facing CNRI. Still facing Laurel. Ted wanted to panic for a brief moment, wondering whether he'd figured it out and how they had given themselves away. Then he mentally shook himself. Perhaps Oliver was just looking for such a slip, a confirmation. Or perhaps he was just worried about his lawyer friend. Either way, whatever Oliver thought he knew, Ted would not be the one to hand him any sort of clue, so he chuckled. That drew Oliver's attention away from the scene below, though he still looked at Ted with a curious tilt of his head – as far as the boxer could tell with the hood still in the way of reading his expression.

"Queen-of-the-castle problems...", he sighed at him. "She isn't avoiding you, exactly." Even he couldn't deny that Laurel had tried to avoid Oliver and the Hood following the heart-wrenching worry of the drug overdose he'd suffered for her. "She's out of town on business. Some of us have to work for a living, Queenie."

A moment passed. Ted imagined Oliver blinking slowly. Comically.

"Speaking of, is there an ETA on that club of yours?"

"Why, would you like to introduce yourself?"

Ted smirked.

"Maybe," he admitted. "I like taunting you."

"You like lording it over my head that you know and I-"

"And you're still fishing in the dark, yeah. Wouldn't you?"

No response.

"So?", Wildcat prompted.

"...I'll let you know," he conceded. "About Canary..."

"I'll let you know," Ted quipped, making Oliver growl in frustration. Realizing he'd taken the teasing a bit too far, he apologized before continuing more somberly. "Sorry. I'll be sure to make her call you. You've got some things to talk about."

"...Yeah, we do," he had to admit. Part of him dreaded the conversation. Part of him looked forward to it. He couldn't decide which side was right.

He caught Wildcat shaking his head in resignation.

"You kids these days. I've said it to her and I'll say it to you: can't you just go on a date like normal people..."

Without waiting for a response, he disappeared onto the next roof. Oliver didn't bother following him. Or contradicting him, even if only in the privacy of his own mind. He didn't know if Wildcat wasn't right. He didn't know what to do with all the thoughts and feelings Black Canary and various other people stirred in him. Those were some of the demons he had to slay.

Or, perhaps, submit to.

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A few roofs over, Helena crouched to watch, unsurprised that the Hood had ultimately turned up at Ms Lance's office. She'd almost feared that she'd have to interfere herself, but ultimately she'd gotten away with an anonymous call to the police when she'd found the dead officers. Maybe she should have done more for Ms Lance, who had, after all, offered to help her prosecute her father, but this wasn't about Ms Lance. It was about proving Oliver Queen was the Hood. With his puppy gaze around the lawyer, she found her suspicions further confirmed by the vigilante's interest in the same woman.

But it was still too superficial. She could try to bullshit a confession from him, but if that didn't work, then he'd be alerted to her plan and she'd get nowhere. Now there was also the other man to think about. He'd already been at the drug deal, but she'd assumed him to be a friend of the bird. Where was she now? Helena realized that if she wanted to get somewhere with her investigation, she needed to do it from the inside. She needed to get back in, but after their last conversation she was pretty sure it would be suspicious if she tried to actively get back in the game. Helena cursed herself for her stupidity. She thought she was punishing him by being uncooperative, but she'd only managed to make it harder on herself.

Now she had to wait for an opportunity – and an invitation. A sliver of doubt caught in her chest when the familiar image of losing her grip on the fireman appeared before her inner eye. Hadn't she been honest, though? She was tired of fighting. There was only one prey she wanted to hunt... Was cornering Oliver really that important?

She cast one last glance at the two men on the other roof. Well, she would probably have some time to think on it.

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 _(Starling General)_

Ted breathed another sigh of relief when he saw Laurel lying in the hospital bed. She appeared to be more irritated than hurt and he soon found out that the reason was that they wanted to keep her for observation due to her head injury. The veteran chuckled lightly at his friend's disgruntled face. He knew she hated hospitals, even though medical treatments were par for the course in their line of night work. She had gotten accustomed to a do-it-yourself attitude early on, though, due to the risk of exposure if vigilante's ended up in the hospital too often, so Laurel found it incredibly difficult to sit back and let doctors take care of her. She, like many vigilantes, had adopted a sense of unease around these sterile white walls.

"This isn't funny," she grunted when she caught him smiling.

Ted raised his hands to placate her.

"I'm just glad you are okay."

"...Thanks," she muttered. "Mild concussion; they're keeping me here tonight just to be safe. Anastasia got it worse..."

"It could have gone a lot worse for both of you."

"Yes," she admitted, while shuffling to make room on the small hospital bed for him to sit down next to her. He took a brief look at the bandaging as if trying to gauge the severity of the injury from the type of gauze they used, but ultimately only grunted at his assessment. "How did your evening go?"

"Rather well, all things considered."

"You didn't butt heads, then?"

Ted smirked.

"At least not each others...", he trailed off with a self-satisfied smirk.

"Well, look at you, looking for all the world like the cat that got the cream," she teased him gently. "I'm glad it worked out. What did you tell him about me? He must have asked where I had gone."

"He thinks you're avoiding him over the whole drug issue. I told him you were working out of town – regular work, I mean."

Laurel considered this. It told her a lot about how he'd taken her hasty flight from his presence the other day. She would be the first to admit that that reaction had been anything but stellar, of course, so she shouldn't be surprised that it seemed to have added an additional layer of tension to their working relationship or friendship or whatever it was that they had. It was confusing, this constant push and pull of positions and roles and attachments between the two of them. The fact that she knew he was Oliver Queen had not made things easier as she may have expected. On the contrary, it had made her relationship with him – both his personae – more complicated even as Laurel Lance. Before the Cyrus Vanch situation had intruded upon her life she had toyed with the idea that coming clean with him might take some of that tension of, but now that her absence had made everything even more tense she wasn't so sure. She wanted a clean slate. She wanted to work with him without the aggravation and the dancing, without complications. She thought it was possible; they made a good team.

She looked up at Ted, who studied her quietly. She had to discuss this with him, though. It wasn't just her secret on the line. Not just her story to tell. The hospital was perhaps too vulnerable a location to discuss this, but she thought she should at least give him fair warning that there was something to discuss. Opening her mouth to tell him they needed to consider their options where the Hood/Oliver Queen was concerned, she halted when the door swung open to reveal the man in question. He stopped short in the entrance, glancing between them surprised and a tad wary. Laurel blushed furiously when she realized she'd leaned into Ted during their conversation and scrambled to sit upright. A smirk broke out on Ted's face briefly, which he suppressed before it could arouse suspicion as he glanced with practiced ignorance between his friend and the newcomer.

"I came to visit Thea. When I heard you had been admitted, I thought I'd come by. Uhm, I didn't mean to- uh..."

"Friend of yours?", Ted asked amicably.

Laurel flushed a little harder with irritation.

"Uh, yes, sorry. Oliver Queen, this is my friend Ted Grant. I train at his gym frequently. Ted, Oliver is a former client and now good friend," she introduced them awkwardly, biting her tongue. Ted slid lazily down from the bed to approach a still wary Oliver. He reached out first and the two men shook hands. He did the same with John Diggle who was hovering in the hallway past Oliver. The billionaire's focus had already shifted to Laurel when Ted turned back around.

"Are you alright?", he asked cautiously.

"Yeah, just a bump in the head. Anastasia pushed a little harder than expected to help me... Uhm, thank you. For stopping by. I can't imagine how hard this must be for you." She was, of course, referring to Thea's prolonged stay at Starling General one or two floors up and watched Oliver's face cloud up in response to the reminded. She saw him swallow down a lump in his throat and nod, not trusting his voice. Opening her arms, she invited him into her embrace and they shared some much-needed warmth and comfort. Once they hugged, something clicked in them, making them hold on more tightly. She could feel his strong heartbeat in his chest as they clung to each other. It reminded her of their interaction at Sara's grave. They had held on so desperately, the other a lifeline in all the turmoil of Oliver's return and the five years of grief that preceded it. Her hands fisted in his suit jacket and she could feel one of his hands brushing through her locks and cradling her neck, mindful of her injury but clearly needing to be closer.

It was the clearing of a throat – Ted's or Diggle's – that made them let go of one another ultimately, though they shared a long, intense look before Oliver retreated back to the door. His eyes were darker than she remembered and swimming with some kind of emotion she couldn't identify. It caused an urge in her, though. An urge to reveal the truth there and then, just blurt it out and be done with it. She could feel the words rising in her throat as he looked at her, fighting to break loose even as he retreated from her, his right hand drawing along her form from where they had rested on her back over her shoulder and down her arm. When finally the last connection broke as their hands drifted apart, the moment was lost and the lump of revelations receded in her throat.

"I should go check on Thea," he said quietly by way of explanation.

"I hope she wakes up soon. Give your mother my best, please."

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When Oliver entered Thea's hospital room, his mother was asleep. Given the lateness of the hour and her overall lack of sleep since Thea had been admitted, that was to be expected and, on any other day, would have been a welcome sight. Now though, Felicity's and apparently Walter's revelation about the booklet weighed on his chest and burned in his throat. Thus, Oliver found himself a bit disappointed that he wouldn't be able to ask about the booklet. Or about Walter's inexplicable disinterest in Thea's condition. No visit and no phone call that he knew of. Not for the first time did Oliver wonder if his mother had even told him of the events that had transpired since he left. Though part of Oliver found it hard to believe that Walter had somehow missed the news from Starling, he would have expected a message of some kind by now, permitting only the conclusion that Walter had no clue what was going on.

If his mother had no intention of informing Walter for whatever personal reasons they had been hashing out, Oliver would call him tomorrow, he determined. For the moment he sat down next to Thea, taking gentle hold of her hand as he surveyed all the machinery she was hooked up to. Of particular interest was the tube they had fastened to her face. Diggle had read up a bit about gastric tubes. This was what fed his sister in her coma, what kept her hydrated and provided her with all the necessary nutrients. He followed the small clear tube from her nose to the solution bag placed high above her. The bag was half-empty. If he wanted to take the chance to give her the herbs, now would be the best time. Perhaps the only time. He cast a worried glance at his sister. There was no telling if the herbs would do anything so long after the intake of the drug. For that matter, the form of feeding them to her worried him. He didn't know if something solid like the herbs might cause irritation or other negative effects, but he figured with the tube leading all the way down to her stomach, there was no chance of suffocation and she hadn't been off solid food that long.

Oliver raised a hand to Thea's cheek; it was warm but pale. It had none of the normal flush he'd find on his sister's lively face. A pointed look at Diggle had him man the door. He had seen first hand what those herbs could do and, like Oliver, he hoped for one more miracle. Making sure his mother was still sound asleep, Oliver removed a small plastic tube with ground leaves (it didn't hurt to be careful) and a pocket knife from his jacket. Poking a small hole near into the solution bag near the top of it, he added the herbs to Thea's solution. Putting everything away again, he watched as the solution dripped down from the bag, slipped through the tube and into his sister's form. He gripped her hand once more as he waited, hoping, hoping, hoping. He knew nothing would happen immediately, but he couldn't help stare at her unresponsive face until a small humming noise distracted him briefly. He realized with a start that it was his mother's phone on the nightstand beside Thea's bed. He frowned when he saw the caller ID flash with Walter's name briefly, before disconnecting. Picking the phone up, Oliver followed his hunch and checked the call history. There must have been a dozen calls by Walter in the last few days alone, along with a few from Malcolm Merlyn and an unknown number. Oliver frowned; with how quickly the call had disconnected, his mother must have set the phone to ignore or reject calls from her husband, yet he could see from the history that she had talked to Mr Merlyn and the unknown caller for anything from a few seconds to a few minutes every time they had called. Glaring at the phone he wondered what could have happened between his mother and Walter for her to suppress his calls like that. It didn't seem like her to let petty animosity stand in the way of her family.

Then again, Diggle's words came to mind that maybe he didn't know his mother as well as he thought. Before he could contemplate this further, his hand was jerked involuntarily, making him drop the phone onto the floor. Looking back at Thea, he noticed that she'd changed position. Her whole body jerked just then. Then again. And again. The machines measuring her vitals went nuts when she seized again. Doctors and nurses flooded the room and his mother started awake. Oliver was urged to back away to give the medical professionals space to work. He ran both hands through his hair in panic, frightened at what he'd done, as his mother jumped from her seat and clung to him. The two of them and Diggle looked on powerless as Thea's frail body continued to jerk uncontrollably on the bed.

 **End of chapter 11!**

 **A/N:** Oh oh, what has Oliver done? Will Thea be alright?

(1) I took that phrase from the title of Belle's favorite book in OUAT.


	12. Chapter 12

**Guardian Angels**

 **Summary:** AU/ After five years in hell, Oliver Queen has returned home with only one goal – to save his city. Unfortunately, nobody told him he'd have to wait in line.

 **A/N:**

 **hotkillerz:** Well, we're getting closer. The only question is how Oliver will react: betrayel, anger, relief...

 **OllielovesDinah:** Thea definitely went through a lot. Now it's Oliver's turn. Because I'm evil - and no good deed goes unpunished, I suppose. Mainly because I'm evil. ;P

 **Chapter 12: Birds of Prey**

Minutes felt like hours as the emergency team rushed them from the room to tend to Thea. His mother had it the worst, maybe. She had been fast asleep when she was suddenly jerked away and practically kicked out of her daughter's room. And, of course, there were the unanswered calls from Walter that she hadn't told anybody about. Then again, at least she wasn't eaten alive by the guilt of having caused Thea's sudden frightening spasms. Oliver seemed fairly numb on the outside, barely moving and neither pleading nor praying for news, good news, from the doctors in Thea's room.

But Diggle knew that inside that quiet shell likely raged an inferno. If he didn't know Oliver so well by now, he would still be able to tell by the white-knuckled fists his friend was making as well as the sudden pallor. Every vein in his body seemed to have run out of blood instantaneously as his little sister began to jerk uncontrollably. He was paler and more sickly looking than the cold, sterile hospital walls. Diggle heard Moira Queen slump dejectedly into a chair opposite the door, but he didn't dare take his eyes off of Oliver. And when the billionaire turned on his heel and marched away, he put out a hand to stop Mrs Queen from running after him or even calling for him.

"I think he needs time to deal with this in his own way, ma'am. I'll give him some space and follow him."

"That's what I'm afraid of" she told him hesitantly. "Please, Mr Diggle. My daughter is already in the hospital. Please, keep my son out of trouble."

"Yes, ma'am."

He didn't bother to mention that neither one of them could stop Oliver from doing anything, least of all getting into trouble. Instead, Diggle simply followed Oliver through the almost empty hallways of the hospital. This late at night, they only encountered a few nurses, doctors and orderlies, who saw Diggle tagging behind Oliver and wisely kept their distance from the strange nighttime wanderer. Oliver made a stop at a vending machine, staring at the list of available beverages and the buttons as if he didn't understand their purpose. For a moment, the bodyguard feared he might have stopped to use the machine as a punching bag and looked around to see who'd be there to witness the scene. Then Oliver gave it a good shove, but nothing that any angry, worried man couldn't have done, and came back to himself a bit.

"What if I killed her, Dig?"

He didn't know how to answer.

"Just because I couldn't wait for Felicity's friend to get the job done; what if-"

"No, don't think like that," Diggle interrupted this time. "You can't think like that."

"You saw what happened. Whatever happens to her now, is my fault. I gave her those herbs. I was so selfish – I just wanted her back." Hands covered his face, but the distraught voice couldn't have been clearer if he shouted. "Now I might never see her again."

"The herbs saved you from the same drug; it just took a bit. You know that."

"I didn't have a fit, though, did I?"

Diggle was tempted to lie. He was, but it would be wrong to lie to his friend to make him feel better, only for him to hurt more if this went south. So he could only shake his head, confirming Oliver's fears. The vigilante turned back toward him and slumped against the vending machine, all but crumpling into himself. Some of the color had returned to his face, but now he looked more green than pale and his eyes were shining and he couldn't look Diggle in the eye.

"You were right," Oliver suddenly said, taking John aback. "About my mother. She isn't trustworthy. She's been receiving lots of calls from Walter, but she's set up a block on his calls. Thea is in the hospital and she won't even talk to him – it can't be lack of interest on his part since he's called about a dozen times. She's deliberately keeping him out of the loop. Why isn't he here, though? Why not take a plane and come here?! Why not call me instead?!"

Oliver was so frustrated that his thoughts and his speech seemed to jump all over the place. Diggle had a spot of trouble keeping up momentarily. He was torn now, about Moira Queen. It was nice to be somewhat on the same page with Oliver, but he wished it didn't have to happen like that. And then Oliver's thoughts jumped ahead and the moment was gone; they'd have to talk about this some other time anyway, when Oliver was calmer.

"Well," Diggle responded, "his absence at least might have something to do with the storm." He called up the article on his phone and held it up to Oliver's face. The biggest storm of the century had grounded all flights from the East coast of Australia and most of New Zealand. "Even traveling from the other coast, most flights go east to get to the US West Coast. Your stepfather is stuck at the moment."

Oliver slumped a little further. Diggle cocked his head.

"Is this a good time to offer a diversion?"

Oliver made a vague gesture with his hands. "Please."

"You remember that file on Black Canary."

"I remember that they took it." Diggle ignored the jibe.

"I jotted down some of the things I remembered. But, more importantly, I managed to ask her a few questions about it while you were out under the influence of those drugs."

Oliver's head shot up so fast, he might have gotten whiplash.

"I would have mentioned it sooner, but with Thea and the drug and then Vanch... it just never seemed like the right time."

"Tell me now." The vigilante's voice was carefully calm, but John could almost feel the tension under his skin. The curiosity thickened the air enough to cut it with a knife.

"So, apparently The Woman in Black first appeared in Central City, a couple of years before she was spotted here in Starling. There isn't much known about her, except a couple of sightings and the fact that she just seemed to stop one day, but our Woman in Black told me that the name Black Canary had been originally hers and that she 'just took up the mantle'."

"So, what are you saying? She's a copycat?"

"More like a successor, I think. She said she was her legacy. Just think about it for a second. Black Canary – the first one – moves to another city, goes on for a few years and then suddenly stops. Twenty-odd years later another Black Canary turns up on the scene and seems to know or at least know about the first one."

"Twenty years is a pretty wide span, unless..."

"Unless she stopped because she had a kid. Maybe she moved here to be with someone and maybe they wanted to try for a child or she found out she was pregnant. Twenty years later the child would be fully grown, ready to take up the cause..."

"They had a daughter and trained her and- but why not continue after the child is old enough? Or organize a babysitter?"

"Oliver, not everyone stands to inherit billions."

Oliver sighed. "You're not the first to tell me that, recently. Wildcat said something similar about Black Canary's work trip. If we could figure out where she went, or for what purpose... And I'm not sure how I feel about the two of you agreeing."

"Well, between work and a kid, I doubt there was much time for vigilantism for her mother. Besides, before the kid is old enough, she'd have been out of it for years – and maybe they had another one or the father put his foot down, who knows."

Oliver snorted. If the original Woman in Black and their Black Canary were mother and daughter and they were anything alike, he doubted any man putting his foot down would have gotten more than a raised eyebrow from the woman. Still, it made a certain amount of sense. It explained her extensive training, her fairly clear moral code and her connections with both the police and other vigilantes. At least, he suspected there were more than just Wildcat, particularly since Wildcat hadn't really been heard of much prior to his own arrival in town. Or maybe he hadn't looked carefully enough. But he had heard rumors of a man in Gotham.

"So, a family business?"

"Yeah, bit like yours... And there's something else. One more thing a friend of mine at Interpol managed to find. Apparently, the other Black Canary had a sonic device as well, but judging from the reports, they think it may have been integrated into the collar she wore around her neck. Though, from the descriptions he could find, it seemed to have been made of either cloth or leather, so..."

"How would that have worked? A microchip with those capabilities in the seventies and eighties... And if so, why isn't Canary using it? Maybe she's a copycat after all."

"I doubt it; her tone was too... intimate when she spoke of her. There's a connection, I'm sure of it. Maybe it just got lost or destroyed," John speculated.

"Either way, something worth discussing with our Black Canary."

"Oliver?", an unsure voice called him from somewhere down the hallway. Both men looked around to find Laurel wandering the empty hallway in her hospital garb. At least they had given her more than a backless gown; she looked more like a nurse than a patient. Her head was tilted to the side in concern. She hovered at the point from where she had spotted them, unsure whether to approach. Oliver straightened himself. He and Diggle exchanged a look that quickly turned into a glare on Oliver's part at his friend's smirk. With a huff, he pushed himself off the vending machine and walked over to talk to Laurel.

"What are you doing here?", he asked her, concerned that she was out of bed with a concussion.

"Avoiding my father. I know he means well; he came to visit me in my room. I left before we could have another fight," she told him while her gaze stuck to the floor, her voice heavy with regret. He extended a hand to brush his knuckles against her arm. She looked up with a brief smile. He couldn't help but smile back. "What about you? Didn't you come here to be with Thea?"

His face darkened.

"What's wrong? What happened?"

Pulling a hand through his short hair, he tried to look anywhere but at her.

"She had a fit. They kicked us out of her room. I- I know I should have stayed, but... what if she doesn't make it?! What if it's my fault?! What if... So I-I ran. Like a coward."

There were a million things she could say at that moment and she knew he would hang onto her words, because he wanted and needed someone to believe. Someone who told him the truth, confirmed his fears or set him straight. But she didn't know the extent of what had happened and, given the circumstances, she couldn't be that person either way. He needed someone he could put his trust in, not someone who kept life-altering secrets from him.

She wasn't a good friend to him, Laurel suddenly realized, but she could do better than twist and betray his trust further. So instead of answering his self-loathing assertion, she put both her hands on his shoulders, rubbing softly until he'd calmed down a bit and refocused his gaze on her. Then she moved her hands to frame his face, hoping her touch offered him comfort as well as keeping his attention.

"Do you want me to come back with you?", she asked simply. She looked straight at him, so she caught the almost imperceptible nod he gave her in reply after a long moment. Laurel brushed a thumb over his cheek, before letting go of his torn face to grasp his hand. His was cold underneath her palm, so she held on a little harder, trying to share her warmth with him. They passed Diggle, this time glaring at him in tandem while he still smirked, and made their way back.

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"I know now is not the best time-", the man started off as he approached Moira with some trepidation.

"It's never going to be a good time," she answered with hostility.

The man frowned.

"What do you mean?"

"What do you think?! I helped you and my daughter was drugged and nearly violated and now... now... This is a message. Robert's death should have been a warning to me. I helped you and he went after my family, just like he did when Robert had second thoughts-"

"Moira," the man tried to calm her. "He can't know. We were careful and if he had known, wouldn't he have killed Thea and yourself?"

It was the wrong thing to say, he knew that immediately. He'd led her a little away from the center of the hallway, but there whispered conversation had still creation a tension that anyone passing by would be able to feel. At his implication, Moira seemed to tense even more if that were possible. She gasped for air, a sound leaving her throat that was a mixture between a sob and a growl. He knew he had to placate her if he wanted to salvage this situation and assure her continued collaboration., so he tried again, softening his tone.

"Moira," he murmured softly.

"No, I'm done," she announced without hesitation, moving to pass him by and return to stand in front of the door to Thea's room where the doctor's and nurses were still working to stabilize her daughter. "I've helped you enough. With all the information I've given you, you should be able to stop him on your own."

His first instinct was to argue, to remind her that their deal and her immunity depended on her cooperation in their attempt to gather evidence against Malcolm Merlyn after she'd come to them following the sinking of the Gambit. But he took in her trembling form and her worried eyes and knew that he had lost. For tonight, it was better to beat a tactical retreat. He would approach her again when she was calmer after the dice had rolled. If Thea survived, she might be grateful enough to want to help them again. And if her daughter died, she would likely want revenge against the man she held responsible. He swallowed, already feeling like a vulture for trying to draw profit from the expected vulnerability of her position, but it was a concern to be faced another time. For tonight, he would let the matter rest.

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It took longer than expected, for Oliver. He hadn't noticed how long or how far he'd wandered in his haze. In his memory, leaving the door to his sister's room behind him and leaning against the vending machine had been almost simultaneous, so out of it he'd been. There was some commotion before the door. Laurel almost stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Oliver's mother argue with her father, a doctor standing awkwardly to the side waiting for them to have it out.

"She just woke up! I will not let you harass her, Detective Lance," Moira was saying when they approached. Both parents were surprised by Oliver's and Laurel's approach – enough to warrant a moment of silence and a few rapid blinks. Moira was the first to recover. She left the detective standing where he was to pull her son to her side. A smile beamed across her face, tears streaming down her cheeks. The apparently conflicting emotions confused Oliver for a second, but he let his mother draw him into a tight hug.

"Thea woke up, Ollie. After the doctors got her fit under control, she just sat up in bed. She just woke up all of a sudden," Moira cried into her son's neck, who finally returned the hug she was giving him. Oliver's heart stuttered in his chest when he heard his mother say that. He felt a sob rise in his throat and did nothing to suppress it. Relief washed over him and made him heady. His arms snaked themselves around his mother, all of his concerns about her forgotten in the incredulous joy of Thea's sudden recovery. He hadn't killed her! He hadn't killed his little sister! The herbs had actually helped her, had brought her back to them after so long. He felt the tears escape and felt his mother's embrace tighten.

He felt another small hand on his back and realized that Laurel had moved forward with him when his mother had pulled him toward the door. He also felt Diggle's hand rest upon his shoulder, just long enough to give it a knowing, comforting squeeze. Opening his eyes he saw a guilty-looking detective shift from one foot to the other, casting his glance about between them and his daughter. When Oliver caught his eye, Detective Lance nodded with compassion, glad that Thea had been returned to them even though Sara hadn't been returned to his family. Oliver gave a small nod of understanding, then he let go of his mother when the doctor came out of the room. The woman looked about a bit uncertainly at all the people, but when Moira gave her the go-ahead she briefed them on the situation without hesitation.

"After the monitors registered respiratory difficulties, we managed to reduce the muscular spasm and stabilize Ms Queen with muscle-relaxant medication. Contrary to our expectations, she then began to show signs of consciousness. We currently believe that the spasms were a final stage after metabolizing the drugs and the body's self-healing process, though we cannot be sure without further tests."

"Is Thea okay?", Oliver interjected, anxious.

"Ms Queen seems to have suffered no ill effects from her spasms that we can see at the moment, though we will need to keep her under observation for at least a few more days to be certain. Ms Queen is currently conscious and appears to be alert. You may go in to see her, though for no longer than a few minutes. We cannot allow any form of strain to be placed on the patient at this moment."

"So no questioning," Moira said with a glance at Quentin. "Thank you. We understand, Dr Dreyfus."

"Also, I'm sorry, Mrs Queen, I know you're in the habit of staying with your daughter overnight, but I'm going to have to have a nurse sit with her and watch her progress over the next few nights. I... Well, I'm afraid I must ask you to return home overnight for the time being."

Moira swallowed. Especially now, she wanted to be with her baby, but the doctor's face looked uncompromising and she didn't want to risk being in the way of the best medical care the hospital had to offer. So she nodded, but with a noticeable lump in her throat. The doctor nodded back with a sad smile and let them pass. In order not to overwhelm her, Oliver and his mother were the only ones who entered. The difference to before was like one between night and day. Instead of a pale, motionless form, Thea was half-upright supported by pillows and looking around curiously. A nurse was talking softly to her. When she saw their mother come in, she smiled uncertainly.

"Mom?", Thea asked, hesitantly.

"Thea – oh, my little girl." Moira chocked on her words. Quickly closing the distance, she sat on the bed and pressed her daughter to her. Thea returned her exuberant hug a little awkwardly, but no less enthusiastically as Oliver watched from the door. He moved closer when the two leaned back to look at one another and his mother spoke again. "We were so worried about you, sweetheart. Oh, thank God you're okay!"

When Oliver sat down on the bed, Thea finally noticed him. He saw something flicker across her eyes for a split second then, but she immediately focused on their mother again. Oliver frowned.

"Yeah, I'm good. But... what was wrong with me? No one would tell me."

Their mother threw a glance at Oliver, who decided to join the conversation.

"Don't you remember the club? The guy who drugged you?"

"It must be an effect of the drug," the nurse piped up. She'd stayed to make sure Thea remained calm. "Amnesia is a possible side effect of many narcotics. We'll have to see if her memory returns."

"Sounds like I'd rather not remember. Must have been one hell of a high, though," Thea said a little to jovially for either of their tastes.

"Thea, you were almost... raped," Oliver spoke in a hushed tone.

"Any other side effects?," she asked. Her tone was playful, but there was a note of trepidation that Oliver didn't understand. "Like hallucinations?"

The nurse tilted her head.

"It's possible," she admitted. "Why, are you experiencing... unusual sensory input?"

"You could say that..."

"Thea, what's wrong?", Moira asked.

"Thea-" Oliver started, reaching out a hand to feel her forehead, but this time she jerked away from him.

"No! No. You're not real! You're not here. You're gone," she said emphatically, one hand raised as if to ward off any more of his touches. Her head was turned away, but her eyes kept darting toward him as if expecting him, even hoping for him to disappear. When he wouldn't, she resorted to fold her hands across her face and shaking her head. She kept talking to herself, reminding herself: "No, no,no, you're not here. You're not my brother. My brother is d- gone. He's gone. Ollie is gone, you're not him."

Oliver was speechless, but his mother tried again to reach her. "Thea, Ollie is real, he's here. I can see him too. The nurse can see him as well, can't you?"

"Yes, yes, of course."

"I promise he's not a hallucination. He's been back for months, sweetheart..."

"Please, Thea," Oliver croaked, gently touching her arm to get her to remove her hand, but she jerked away again. "Please, look at me. I'm here. I'm real. I'm here."

But she kept shaking her head, kept hiding behind her hands, kept denying his existence, until the nurse asked him to leave because of how upset she was getting. The woman was very sympathetic and apologetic, but that didn't mean anything to Oliver as he allowed himself numbly to be walked back out into the hall. He walked backward, never letting his eyes stray from his sister's distraught form. Hoping against hope that she would suddenly remember, look up and see him – truly see him – until the door closed in front of him and he was alone.

Diggle, Laurel and even Detective Lance turned toward him in surprise, still waiting in front of the room, but he was utterly alone with his thoughts. This could not be happening. He could not just have gotten his sister back from the drugs just to lose her to memory loss again. For her to not re3cognize him, it cut him to the quick. Without realizing how, he was sitting down and talking. There was a hand on his back and soothing voices talking to him and friendly faces, but he didn't hear or feel any of it. He didn't want their sympathy; he wanted his sister. Little Speedy who chased him through his adolescence.

Thea was only a few feet away, yet completely out of reach for him.

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He'd wandered through the empty hallways for a second time that night until he ended up at her door again. He knew she wasn't in there and it made no sense, but leaned forward and let his head fall against the door anyway. Closing his eyes he took a few steadying breaths, but he didn't feel any steadier at all. In the matter of a few days his world had turned upside down twice with Thea at the epicenter of it all. Not to forget his mother, of course, whose strange behavior gnawed at his unsettled insides.

In the span of months after his return, his family had fallen apart and Oliver was left wondering if maybe it wouldn't have been better for them if he had never returned from Lian Yu. Perhaps Black Canary had been right; that it had been a moment of human attachment that had led him to return instead of fully immersing himself in his vigilante persona. And maybe it would have been better for him and for his family if he'd done that instead, lived off the streets and in the underbelly of society while righting his father's wrongs. He could have returned with the task complete, no longer a burden onto his family...

Or not at all.

Another deep breath did little to assuage his torment, but it redirected some of his attention to the outside world just in time to feel a small, strong, calloused hand slip into his. He was suddenly very aware of the presence next to him, his whole body burning with the knowledge that someone had managed to get the drop on him during his internal struggle. Oliver had to fight down his immediate fight or flight response, which was ultimately set to fight as its base line, because he knew this presence and didn't want to hurt her. He thought he would know her even in a sea of people and it both astounded and terrified him, this pull the petite woman had on him. Still, it drew an ironic chuckle from him when he looked at her only to see her glance at the door he was leaning on, despite the room behind it being empty and its occupant so close he could see the pores in her skin.

Always her door.

"Things always seem to lead me back here. Back to you," he said, with a small amount of guilt. He thought of Sara and her empty grave and why he wasn't drawn there the way he was to the empty room of her living sister. He didn't know whether he felt shame or relief.

Laurel smiled tentatively, but he could see it was strained. Perhaps she was thinking the same thing.

"What happened, Oliver?"

"...Thea doesn't remember me."

"Doesn't remember...?" She trailed off, uncertain.

"She thinks her brother is dead and that I'm a hallucination that's haunting her... She doesn't remember me coming home." He had to breathe carefully in order to get the words out. His entire throat seized up as if trying to keep the truth from being spoken out loud as if that would hurt him less. He watched Laurel's attentive face; he saw her concern and her compassion and turned away because it made him feel worse. She didn't leave and he was grateful for that, grateful for the hand that moved to rest softly on his shoulder. He was even more grateful when she didn't say anything.

He didn't think he could have taken her trying to comfort him. He took more deep breaths in an attempt to reign in his building anxiety, but the words wanted to leave now and so his worries spilled out of him and into the cold sterility of the hospital. "I have lost her before – when I went on the Gambit. And ever since I returned, I've kept her and everyone else at arm's length. I couldn't reconnect with them; maybe, on a level, I didn't want to so I couldn't lose them again... And now she's right there and I've lost her anyway!"

He felt Laurel step closer, felt her body mold itself to his back, spreading warmth and comfort without a word. He could feel her breath run along his right shoulder blade. She took a moment to speak, but when she did her voice was quiet and calm.

"Perhaps you didn't lose her, Ollie. Perhaps you got a second chance." The nickname made him suck in a breath. She had never called him that before. Or had she? He didn't remember, but the intimacy of the moment made it weigh even more gravely on his chest. A second chance? How? He wanted to ask, but his voice was stuck in his throat, so he waited for her to continue. She did, but only after tugging at him to turn around and face her. When he had, her hand moved again to cup his cheek.

The calloused digits felt rough against his skin and strangely reminded him of her own hardships. What wouldn't she give for a second chance with Sara? "Thea is scared now, but she'll calm down and your mother will explain everything to her. She'll know you're not dead, that you're home and even if she never remembers the last few months, she'll be so happy to have her brother back! And if you regret how it went last time, then now is your chance to be the brother you want to be to her! The brother she deserves."

The tension seemed to fall away from him when it clicked. He still felt sad and guilty at everything that had happened to Thea and how it had put a wedge between them, but there was something so hopeful about Laurel's speech that he couldn't help but allow himself the fantasy of it. He knew deep down he would likely not be a better brother this time around – he wasn't sure he ever could be the brother, son or friend his loved ones deserved again – but for a moment he allowed himself to hope with her.

His head dropped forward until their foreheads touched and both their eyes closed. He could feel her breath again as it caressed his face. The temptation to lean forward that last inch and steal it from her in a kiss was great and it was hard to remember why Laurel had been right that he was hardly in a position to seek a romantic entanglement. And there was too much between him and Laurel for it to be just a kiss or a fling. But they were so close and he could feel the attraction of her body. He knew she felt it too, felt it in the tremble of her hand against his cheek.

"What if I'm ready?", he whispered. He felt her flinch, anxiety and desire mixing in her blood.

"What if I'm not?", she murmured back. "It's still not right." But it sounded more like a question than a statement. Wasn't it? Why wasn't it? He was tormented by thoughts of Thea, but was he not in his right mind? He was occupied enough with The Hood that a relationship with Laurel was a bad idea, but it was hard to remember why. Things always led him back to her, ever since that first night. He had meant to protect her from Somers, but he'd also chosen to follow Thea's advice. He had chosen her. He still did choose her, every time it seemed. So why did they both have to deny themselves something they so clearly wanted... He moved his head anyway, so their cheeks touched and his lips gently lay against her neck.

"When will we be," he murmured in her ear, "if not now."

She drew back from him to look him in the eyes and he let her see all of it. All his torment, his admiration, his worries, his desire. Even his darkness, though he doubted she could place it. He didn't think he'd shown this much of himself to anyone in the last five years. He watched and waited as she searched his face. He felt a spark of guilt when he thought of Thea briefly, sitting upstairs in a hospital bed thinking him a delusion. She had been the reason he had wandered here in the first place and if she could see how quickly that had developed into this...

Laurel's searching gaze pierced him in ways he couldn't explain, but he wanted her to find what she was looking for. Find something to hold onto in him, something to cling to as tightly as he clung to her. Her hands framed his face when her eyes seemed to settle on some speck of his soul he had bared to her. Slowly, tentatively she kissed him. It was just a peck and he dared not make more of it, even though he could feel their desire to deepen the kiss thrum underneath their skins. But he kissed her back, a firm press of his lips against hers. They could hear footsteps approaching vaguely from a distance. When they broke apart moments later, he moved in again to give her one more kiss. He didn't care about who would happen upon them as he moved his mouth against hers gently. The kiss remained gentle even as they opened their lips to nib and caress each other.

They were still standing in the door kissing when the clearing of a throat – not Diggle's, he noticed – made them move apart. Strangely, he didn't feel dazed by their kiss, even though he did feel incredibly, vivaciously alive. He looked up to find Detective Lance look at them, both angry and resigned as if he had expected this ever since he'd found Oliver in Laurel's apartment after China White had tried to kill her. Perhaps he had, but he still cast Oliver a murderous warning glance. Then his gaze flickered to Laurel and then down to the smart phone he held in his hand. He extended it to his daughter, who took it with some hesitation.

"Perhaps your vigilante friend can explain this," Quentin suggested.

Oliver tilted his head. What was he supposed to have done now?! He heard Laurel gasp and looked down a the news article that was displayed on the phone. A picture showed two men dangling from a lamp post – by the neck. It took him only a moment to realize that the detective didn't think The Hood was responsible for this. Between the headline talking of a black widow and a quick read-through telling him witnesses had spotted a masked woman in black leather standing on a roof looking down at the two dangling crooks, it became clear who was to blame for this in the public's eye.

"This can't be right," he said without thinking.

"Something we agree on. Killing is more your thing," Detective Lance muttered. Oliver just rolled his eyes at the accusation. "But that's not how the public will see it. Does see it."

"It must be a copy cat – the hood guy had one, too," Oliver argued instead, already thinking of slipping away and calling Canary to clear this whole thing up.

"The people won't believe that there's two copycats within two months of two vigilantes that operate in this city," Laurel said, her voice thick.

"Not everyone will believe this nonsense. The people she saved on New Year's Eve will know better," the detective pointed out. "Still, the police has already ordered a manhunt..."

"A witch hunt, you mean," Laurel muttered darkly. The two exchanged a glance and the silence rang with Detective's Lances lack of denial. "I need to go to CNRI."

"You think she'll come by for legal council?", Oliver asked, surprised.

"No, but I intend to fight this anyway. This city has enough problems without the police focusing on the wrong vigilantes and pretending the copycats and the originals are the same people." She thrust her father's phone back in his hand and turned to Oliver. "You should probably check on your sister anyway. We can...uh... talk about this later."

"We will," he told her.

"Promise," she said, smiling slightly at the determination in his voice. With that, she marched straight into her room and closed the door on both men to get dressed. Oliver and Quentin exchanged a wary glance and Oliver admired the detective for not giving him the if-you-hurt-my-little-girl-speech right away – at least not before he and Laurel had a chance to talk about this. Oliver nodded at the detective in acknowledgment and headed back toward the stairs, but he had a different direction in mind than going back up to his sister's room. Already he was proving to be a lousy brother, but Canary had stood by him when the Dark Archer had threatened people.

Now it was his turn and he would at least be a decent friend tonight.

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Instead of going straight for her clothes, Laurel grabbed her cell phone. Not the Hood's phone, though she wanted to. Her regular cell phone, because there was one important phone call she had to make before heading from the frying pan into the fire. She thought briefly of calling Ted to let him know she was coming in and going out on patrol that night, but once he saw the news – as she was sure he would – he would know that would be what she would do anyway. There was someone else she needed to speak to. She pressed the speed dial and waited for the line to click. For a few agonizing seconds nothing happened. She risked a glance at the clock and winced. There was a good chance she was already in bed at this ungodly hour, but Laurel needed her right now so she let it ring instead of hanging up and letting her sleep. After the seventh ring, finally, someone picked up.

" _Yes,_ _sweetie_ _?"_ , a voice greeted her sleepily over the phone.

"Sorry to wake you, mom," Laurel apologized. It was the least she could do at this hour.

" _You know I'd get up anytime for you, sweetie. Now, what's wrong?"_

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 _(The roof)_

He met her on their roof again and this truly was a dangerous habit. Someone must have spotted them there once or twice now, so he was frankly surprised at the lack of police. She turned to him immediately and drew closer. He could see that she was pained by what had happened. Even with the mask and the wig, there was no denying the worry on her face.

"We'll figure this out," and "It wasn't me" - they spoke at the same time. Sharing a chuckle, he squeezed her shoulder.

"I know. We'll find her."

He saw her bite her lip.

"Do you know who she is?"

Canary shook her head.

"Not for sure. I have a suspicion, but... she's in prison."

"That's failed to stop people before."

"Belle Reve," was all Black Canary answered, but it was enough. He sucked in a breath; he'd heard of that place. Only the worst criminals and supervillains went there. Super-powered beings and people so evil, the devil might flinch at their crimes. He knew the woman who ran the place was heartless and it gave him pause when he heard of possible human experimentation happening in the facility. Who could Canary have met that she had to send to that place?! As if sensing his question, the vigilante went on. "I don't know her name. She didn't have one when she met... the other Black Canary. But in her quest to kill her, she gave herself a name that she was sure would haunt my... predecessor. She called herself White Canary."

"How original," Oliver deadpanned. So far, he was not impressed, but Canary shook her head at him emphatically.

"It was more than a pun. It was meant as a taunt. She was to be the inversion of everything Black Canary stands for. Every ideal, every action, every word. She lives to undo that legacy, but-"

"But she's in Belle Reve," he said. He understood. Even he couldn't imagine anyone fleeing from there. He'd never been there personally, but if half the stuff he'd heard about the place were true, he'd think it might have been built to hold back God.

"And she never dressed up like me. She wanted everyone to know that we were two different people... but, on the off chance that she's trying a new tactic, I'm having someone check if she's still where she is supposed to be."

He nodded.

"Better safe than sorry. Speaking of, shouldn't you stay off the streets for a bit. If anyone sees you..." He couldn't help it, he was worried.

"And let people think she's really me. No, the only way to convince people is if they realize there's two of us. Besides, you didn't stay home and twiddle your thumbs when the Dark Archer murdered your previous targets."

"I know. It was worth a shot, though."

And a shot rang out, clear across the roof.

They looked up from their conversation to find someone had shot out the lock that sealed the roof access door and was kicking it open. Oliver barely had time to register it wasn't a group of cops, but rather angry civilians that had come to hunt them, before they both dived off the roof. There was no point participating in a fight that would only cement everyone's view of them as killers. Once they were down on street level, they faced a whole new problem though.

Having to run among the regular civilians on their way home from whatever party or business event that had kept the few of them up that night, their icy, accusatory stares seemed to bore right through them. A couple of them went so far as to come at them, angry snarls and faces swimming in their vision. Oliver was ready to ignore them, but Black Canary was struck by their hostility. She stopped to listen to them, talk to them, but her words of defense fell on dead ears.

"You killed them! You murdered those men!", they shouted, or "You call yourself a hero?!" Killer, murderer, vigilante... The way they spat that last word was sure to make them understand it meant the same thing to them as the first two. Oliver bristled; how easy it was for these people to turn on either one of them. They had feared him, then hailed him a hero when he went to confront the Dark Archer. They had relied on her for almost two years now to keep their streets safe and yet, even after witnessing a lunatic copy him not so long ago, they jumped at the slightest sign of moral failure. Jumped to the worst conclusion and were ready to burn Black Canary at the pyre. And these were the people she had set out to protect!

"It wasn't me," she told them as calmly as she could, but he could hear the beginnings of dejection coloring her voice. She wanted them to believe her. Was she so reliant on their good will? Even when a man grabbed her arm, she did nothing to throw him off, just tried to talk to him quietly. "I swear to you, it wasn't me. I wouldn't do that, but I will find whoever did it. Please believe me."

"Believe you?", the man snarled at her viciously. "Believe you, a bitch who hides her face behind a mask?! Why would we believe anything you say?!"

Shouts of assent followed, even though many kept their distance. But the circle around them was getting smaller, people closing in as if to suffocate them within their crowd and at the man's insult, Oliver finally had enough. If Canary could not make her way through these ingrates, it was time to remind them who they were dealing with before she turned his world upside down.

"Back off," he told the man quietly, but with a deadly edge to his voice. The man seemed to miss it even as the Hood approached him, because he only looked up at him with skepticism and distaste. Oliver didn't hesitate in drawing an arrow and pressing it against the stranger's throat while he held the bowstring tightly against his cheek. He watched with satisfaction as the man became white as a sheet. He stood immobilized while everyone else backed away under gasps. Oliver just pressed the arrow into his skin harder, drawing blood.

"I said back off!," he growled. "She may not be a killer, but you'd do well to remember that I am."

"Hood," Black Canary's soft voice reached him, but the simple call carried to many meanings at once to disentangle them all. The man had let her go and he didn't know if the hand she had now put on his arm was to stay his hand or as a sign of gratitude. She didn't say anything to clarify her intentions either, so he took it how he wanted.

"Let's go," was all she said. Oliver felt his body move before he'd made the decision to follow her. He would have cursed himself, but he knew she too felt this pull – to follow each other, to run this town together. Within moving ten feet he heard at least three people calling the police. They needed to get back to higher ground and soon, but even the roofs weren't safe where they were, so first they needed to disappear into the night.

"Let's go home," he suggested even while they ran.

She sent him a rebellious look, but he wasn't done.

"They're too angry to listen right now. There's nothing more we can do tonight. Let's wait for your friend to figure out if we're dealing with this White Canary person first. We shouldn't go into this blindly."

Since when was he the reasonable one, he wondered. There was another moment of silence, hopefully while Wildcat agreed with him on the other end of her comm. Ultimately, she gave a reluctant nod, but he'd take it, because it was better than nothing.

"I'm not letting this go," she reminded him, though.

"No, neither am I," he promised. "Tomorrow."

Now they just had to avoid getting caught first.

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 _(Queen Residence)_

The night just kept getting better and better. He and Diggle were discussing the issue of the other Canary when they got home and Oliver stopped dead in his tracks. He had forgotten what awaited him there. Over the course of the night with all the rapid changes he had to undergo, he had forgotten that he had also made some uncomfortable discoveries about his family. Faced with the double doors to the mansion he remembered his mother's phone and Walter's caller ID, he remembered the booklet Felicity Smoak had received from his stepfather who had supposedly gotten it from his mother and he remembered what his father had said about the list and all the implications of his mother owning a copy. If his father's wasn't the only one, then perhaps it wasn't his list. And if it wasn't his list, then his mother's possession of a copy did not bode well for her involvement with the men and women on that list even if she herself was not named specifically.

"I have to confront her," he suddenly said, then cringed. Saying it out loud made it real and it made him feel even worse. He looked at Diggle, hoping his friend had some wise insight that might make him feel better about it, but his face was grave.

"But not tonight," was all he said and, despite himself, Oliver felt at least a little relieved.

They nodded at each other and went inside, only to find that they were not the only ones who had come home late. There was a small dark gray suitcase standing under the table at the center of the atrium and a jacket was draped haphazardly over the edge of it. There was a second jacket, smaller and more femininely cut – not to mention a bright crimson color – that had both men worried. His mother, though she enjoyed a dash of color here and there in her clothing, did not own such a coat. Oliver and Diggle both rounded the table and walked into the next room.

A brief smile broke out over over Oliver's face when he saw Walter pour a glass of scotch from the bar, until he noticed that he was pouring two. Then he noticed Walter's feminine company and it was definitely not his mother. He and Diggle exchanged another glance as they approached the two. As they got closer, they could see a computer in front of the young woman with Walter. Two more glasses stood on the couch table, waiting for Oliver and Diggle no doubt. Wary of the elaborate welcome, the two sat down with.

"Glad you're back, sir," Diggle commented, ever the diplomat. "How did you make it out of the impacted area?"

Oliver's mouth twitched. Only Diggle could slip an interrogation into a welcome home speech.

"The storm finally abated enough that at least military transports flew again. I managed to secure a seat with the promise of a large donation to the widow's fund," Walter explained nonchalantly. He didn't seem bothered by his employee's unusual interest.

"Well, I'm glad you made it in one piece. Thea just woke up," Oliver said in a friendly manner, but trailed off uncertainly when the subject of his sister brought back painful memories of the night.

Walter nodded seriously.

"That's good. I'm so glad she's okay. I knew she'd get through it, I'm just sorry I couldn't be there for her," Walter admitted quietly. "I want to visit her tomorrow. I would have gone today, but... things between me and Moira have been... difficult."

"Yeah, I noticed she ignored your calls. What happened?"

Walter hesitated momentarily. He looked as if he considered telling a lie, but ultimately he sighed. He exchanged a look with his friend. She nodded and placed the computer from her knees onto the table, turning it around for Oliver and Diggle to see. Apparently, she had hacked the mansion's security system and was watching the camera imagery of the front door. That certainly explained how they had known that it had been the two of them who had come home. Oliver looked from the computer up to her soft face. He could see she was nervous under his scrutiny, but she held his gaze with steely resolve.

"And Felicity, I'm so glad you made it out here sometime," the vigilante addressed the petite woman.

She flushed, but didn't look away.

"Yeah, well, if you thought I'd just give up when you stole the booklet, you've got another thing coming," Felicity shot back, making Oliver's mouth twitch upward again. She certainly had some fire in her.

Diggle cleared his throat.

"So, back on track." He was all business now. "What happened?"

"Oliver happened."

"Huh?"

Walter sighed.

"Even though I left because of an issue with your mother, I think going to Australia was the best I could do to get some much-needed distance. To think. And I had a lot of time to think while waiting for a plane that would actually fly," he told them gravely. He looked directly at Oliver when he continued. "Oliver, you brought Warren Patel's shot-up laptop and an arrow used by the Dark Archer and recently, apparently, a miracle drug to Felicity to look into. It doesn't take a genius to put two and two together."

Oliver's face grew cold. This was one direction he could not allow this conversation to go.

"I was acquitted of being the vigilante if you remember. I was at home with a tracking bracelet strapped to my ankle while he busted an arms deal across town," he reminded his stepfather tersely. Walter wasn't phased, though. He merely nodded as if he had expected that rebuke.

"And I'll admit it threw me off for a bit. Then I realized that Mr Diggle was helping you," Walter told them boldly. He noticed Oliver's hands clenching into fists and Diggle's suddenly stiff posture and held up a hand to placate them. "I thought it might be Tommy for a bit, what with your history, but the timing wasn't quite right, especially since he was here at the party two. I presume it was Mr Diggle under the hood that night."

"You don't know what you're saying," Oliver told him through clenched teeth, earning himself a sharp look from his stepfather.

"I know exactly what I'm saying and there's certainly a lot more to talk about, but I think the most striking thing is that we've been working on the same list of names, even though I have no idea where you got a copy.

"You mean the list in the booklet you said you got from my mother?", Oliver asked, looking back at Walter.

"I found it in our bedroom and it certainly isn't mine."

"So you say," Oliver pointed out.

"He has no reason to lie," Felicity came to Walter's defense. "He came to me with the booklet, asking me to analyze it. If he already knew what it was, why reveal it to someone else?"

Oliver had to nod at that – she had a point – but his face was grim, because he didn't like the implications of that.

"Plus, we found evidence that your mother diverted funds into a shell corporation called Tempest LLC in order to buy a warehouse in the Glades," Felicity told him, while taking back her computer and pulling up some data. She handed it directly to Oliver this time, who placed it in his lap to look at it. Diggle leaned over to read over his shoulder. Oliver's mind struggled to cope with the new information as it cemented the suspicion Diggle had already expressed against his mother. The suspicions he himself found ever more difficult to ignore or explain away.

But Walter's unexpected return and the breakneck pace at which their investigations seemed to crash into each other send his head for an extra whirl. He closed his eyes, trying to compartmentalize everything he'd discovered in these last few days. Days, he wondered, when it seemed like weeks. Years, even. He returned the laptop to Felicity and stood to pace behind the couch. Pacing, thinking, arguing with himself over what to do now. How he proceeded would have a huge impact on the direction his life would take, both in and out of the mask, but in the end there was only one tactically advantageous choice.

"What's in the warehouse?", he asked, finally.

Walter and Felicity exchanged a glance. There was some relief on their faces, even as it vanished quickly.

"We don't know," Walter eventually admitted.

"What do you mean? Didn't you go look?", Diggle questioned, surprised.

"We didn't want to invite suspicion, but when I sent the head of Queen Consolidated's security, he preferred to quit and rather take a position at Merlyn Global instead," Walter told them. "But, we thought, you might have more freedom of movement."

The implication was clear to Oliver. The Hood could ostensibly go to the warehouse without attracting attention to 'real' people with normal identities. It was certainly relevant what was in that warehouse, but not relevant enough to risk Walter's or Felicity's necks. Better the vigilante stumbled upon something on his patrol... Already a plan was forming in his mind, half-baked. Perhaps it would be a good opportunity to reintroduce Helena to vigilantism.

She had had plenty of distance now, so he felt comfortable with testing the waters with her again. And, of course, it would be a good idea to bring additional back-up, possibly doing something to kit the relationship between her and Black Canary as well – even if they'd never be friends. He was already reaching for the phone when he recalled the incident they had faced tonight and its cause. With a potential super-powered assassin on the loose, he couldn't risk diverting his attention.

That left going right away, while they were still waiting on confirmation of White Canary's whereabouts, or waiting until this crisis had passed before acting on this new piece of information. The truth was that he felt tired to the bone. Ever since the attack on Thea he had been so angry that it had kept him energized, but now he felt depleted of all vitality. He may as well be a rock. Kissing Laurel and running with Canary had briefly reestablished that feeling, but now that he was out of uniform and home he felt like a rock, not like someone who could go out and jump off of roofs again tonight. Or rather this morning. It was way past everyone's bedtime, even by vigilante standards.

"As you said," he mentioned looking at Diggle, "not tonight."

"Then when?", Felicity challenged.

"When he's not dead on his feet," Walter said after a moment of scrutinizing his stepson.

"Yeah, and when we're not dealing with another copycat," Diggle added.

Oliver looked at him, surprised.

"We need to sort out your girlfriend's problem first."

That raised Walter's and Felicity's eyebrows, while Oliver just growled.

"She's not my girlfriend."

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(CNRI)_

That day was odd, to say the least. The entire office was buzzing with news of recent events – from the hanging of the two crooks to reports of the vigilante couple being seen in the street and threatening passersby. When Laurel proposed to take legal action to oppose what she called a witch hunt of the Woman in Black by the police, the office was divided. Some, wo saw vigilantism itself as the root of the problem, were against helping someone who openly flaunted her trespasses against the law, whether or not they believed her capable of murdering those crooks.

They figured that their resources were better invested in helping the little guy, the little mask-less guy to be precise, in getting justice from the system. Anastasia couldn't exactly say that she disagreed. On the other hand, there were those who acknowledged the positive effect both vigilantes had had on the crime rate in the Glades, making working there safer for them as well, and felt it was only right to help them out in turn. And Anastasia, knowing that the Woman in Black had been intensely involved in putting Vanch in prison in the first place, couldn't exactly disagree with them either.

She saw the real dilemma, though, and it wasn't in being on either side of the vigilantism fence. The real problem became apparent when Laurel, who was normally calm and nice to everyone, snapped at them while they were still discussing (arguing) about it that she would prepare the case alone if necessary. The crowd dispersed quickly after that, no one wanting to get in her cross hairs while she was in a mood. Which actually left her preparing the case on her own as people were wary of her.

From what Anastasia could gather from her colleagues' whispers, this behavior was unusual for Laurel. While many were shocked, concern for their normally friendly colleague seemed to outweigh any rancor at being snapped at. They probably figured that she was still on edge after Vanch's direct attack on her in this very building. Still, Anastasia watched Laurel toil at the case for a few hours until lunch. Toil truly was the perfect word for it as she seemed to have lost her usual spirit along with her patience some time last night.

To be fair, Anastasia hadn't thought either of them would be out of the hospital and back to work so soon. Because really, they shouldn't be out and about, but they had both strong-armed their doctors because neither one of them wanted to occupy hospital beds better used for people more seriously injured, especially not while there was work to be done. She had agreed to do a pro bono year and she wasn't going to sit out a week after only having been there for a few days. Laurel's father being a cop had helped quite a bit, because he'd ultimately struck a deal with the hospital: they'd be spending their lunch break getting checked up and getting lunch from the hospital cafeteria. And repeat at the end of the work day.

Neither one of them was looking forward to it, but considering that even threatening to sue the hospital had not seemed to create more than a slight reluctance on the staff's part. So, when it was time for lunch, she took Laurel by the arm and led her down to the street. Laurel's father had agreed to come collect them as they'd both been forbidden to drive. Anastasia noticed the other woman meant to protest, but she just pulled her a little closer to silence her. She felt the watchful eyes of the entire CNRI staff follow them out the door. It wasn't until they were both securely inside the car and well on their way to Starling General that Anastasia dared to breach the topic that burned on her tongue.

"So, what's with you today?" She cringed internally at how harsh that sounded, but then shrugged at herself. After what they'd gone through, she figured she'd earned the right to be blunt with Laurel.

"Nothing," the other woman replied in a tone that signaled she didn't want to talk about it. Anastasia harrumphed, undeterred.

"Poppycock," she exclaimed, drawing Laurel's attention at the old-fashioned curse. Well, that was something. "You lost your patience with the entire staff while they were having a perfectly understandable ethical debate that you'd normally welcome from what I've heard. And I get it; you went through hell last night and we should both still be in the hospital-"

"Please, could you tell them that when we get there," Quentin piped up, concerned at his daughter's well-being.

"Dad, not now, please." Their relationship was still rocky, even though Vanch's attack had driven home that something could happen to either one of them at any time. Time was too precious to spend it being mad at each other. They needed to pull at the same string, but the trust between them was shaky at best. Laurel swallowed the guilt that came with her secrets, knowing that didn't make it better.

"Laurel," Anastasia prompted.

"It's... Last night was just stressful, Anastasia. I lost my calm; I won't let that happen again."

"Don't do that," she replied. "Don't hide behind something. It's more than that. I can see it."

Laurel looked at her for a long moment and Anastasia hoped she would confide in her. They hadn't spent a lot of time together, even if some of it had been intense and they had bonded a little over it. At least Anastasia thought so. Still, Laurel seemed nice enough normally. Strong, independent and someone who fought for what she believed in. Anastasia could see them becoming real friends with a bit more time. She just hoped Laurel wouldn't draw back from her now.

"I-I recently disappointed someone," Laurel admitted, then added in a quiet mutter, "a lot of someones actually – it wasn't all my fault, but they lost faith in me... You can't help someone who doesn't want help and... and I don't know how to rebuild that trust. I'm at a loss of what to do."

"I'm sorry," Anastasia said, reflexively. "I... I don't quite know what to say. My father was in the Army; he always used to say that trust doesn't come easily, but it's easily broken- uh, sorry, that doesn't really help you."

Laurel smiled sadly.

"No, but it's so true," she told her dejectedly.

"Come on, don't give up. If it wasn't your fault, I'm sure they'll see it in time. It'll be alright."

Laurel didn't know about that, but she nodded anyway. They had arrived. From her sitting position Starling General suddenly looked foreboding, looming over them as they got out of the car. While Anastasia headed on inside, her father held her back a moment longer. With a moment's hesitation at their own misgivings, he took her in his arms. Laurel's body stiffened at first, but then she melted into the loving embrace. She hadn't realized how much she needed her father's support until he'd hugged her. She clung to him. He'd always been there for her. All her life he'd had her back, had raised her to succeed on her own but knowing he would always catch her when she stumbled on her path. When Sara had died and he'd tried to find solace at the bottom of every bottle, he'd let her in and let her help him. He had pulled himself out of it and gone to AA meetings when he'd realized that she was serious about taking up her mother's mantle. She buried her face in his shirt and let a few tears slip when she realized how much she'd missed him. Their distance had hurt him, but it had hurt her more. She relied so much on him, on his gentle encouragement and even his stern warnings and threats to put her in protective custody.

"I missed you," he murmured.

She almost choked on her reply.

"I missed you too."

She leaned back to wipe her tears away.

"I don't know what to do about this woman," she told him then and they both knew they were not talking about Anastasia and her prying.

"We'll figure it out, we'll... find a way. People won't believe she's you forever," Quentin responded soothingly, rubbing an arm over his daughter's back. "We'll find her and you and Ted... and the other one will set this right. And I'll help from the precinct in any way I can."

"The other one?", Laurel questioned, knowing exactly who was meant, but surprised her father would willingly include him in anything. "I thought you wanted him... gone...What changed your mind?"

"It seems you have made your choice to work with him and, though it pains me to say it and I will deny it if he ever asks, you work well together. You protect one another."

Quentin raised his eyes to the heavens, exasperated. Laurel smiled a little, for real this time. It meant a lot to her that her father seemed to be on board with their so-called battle couple. And willing to help out to boot. Then her smile faded, because her guilt clawed its way up from the pit in her stomach in which it had set up camp to her throat. She felt as if it cut off her oxygen supply. She was drowning on dry land. Her eyes frantically searched her father's face. It was time to come clean with him. He'd always been by her side, she couldn't and shouldn't keep secrets from him and she was sure that she could trust him to keep them too. But Laurel had to swallow a few times before she thought she might be able to say it. In the time it took her to open her mouth her father must have noticed something, because he suddenly stepped back and held up a hand.

"No, I don't want to know. I still think- but no. I don't want to know if I'm right. I know you know. I could see it on your face ever since New Year's. I- just tell me you'll be safe, okay?"

"He doesn't know," she told him instead.

"Why not?", he countered. "No, don't tell me. Just something to think about... Just, be careful. You're all I've left. I don't want anything to happen to you. I can't... I can't lose another daughter."

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

He stopped right in front of her door. Hovering for another moment, he wondered what he would find on the other side. The tragedy of recent days had mostly gone by without him and he didn't know how Thea would respond to him if she didn't even accept her brother. Walter had missed so much of what had happened, had failed to be at her side to hold her hand while she lay unconscious fighting for her life. Thea was such a brilliant, vivacious young woman. The thought of seeing her so defeated, lying motionless in a hospital bed, had scared him to no end, but he'd rather have gone through that than to have failed her somehow. She had needed him and he had been unable to provide either assistance or comfort, stuck halfway across the world and cut off from his way home by some heavy rain.

Walter sighed.

And then there was Moira; she was a whole different chapter. When he had first heard of Thea's attack, calling his wife had come natural to him. Her chilled response still haunted his thoughts. She had so harshly excluded him from their family circle, told him to stay away and it had him hesitating, deliberating long enough for the storm to effectively take the decision from him. He looked at his feet, not sure if he was ready to face her again without demanding an explanation.

There were so many things for which she owed him an explanation, but this was neither the time nor the place for such discussions, so he swallowed his anger and curiosity and finally knocked on the door. When Thea's soft voice answered him, his heart beat a little faster. She still sounded a bit weak, but at least she was awake. Entering the room, he and Moira exchanged one brief glance, trepidation clear on both their faces before Walter chose to focus fully on Thea.

"Walter," she greeted him, her face lighting up a bit.

He went over and hugged her tightly.

"Thea, I'm so glad you're okay." The young woman hugged him back fiercely, making his chest ache with the relief he felt at having her back and in one piece.

"Mom told me you were stuck in Australia," Thea went on enthusiastically and Walter breathed another small sigh of relief when it seemed that Moira hadn't used her influence to make Thea exclude him too. "How did you get back? She said something about a military plane? Sounds like an adventure, tell me everything."

And Walter laughed, because that quick-fire curiosity really ran home that she would be okay, even if she didn't have all her memories. Walter's chest ached again, not in a good way this time. Even as he launched into a brief recount of his 'misadventures', he thought of Oliver, off preparing for a fight somewhere no doubt and disconnected from one of the most important people in his life. Someone who made everything worth fighting for.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(The Club)_

Oliver walked into the club with Diggle in tow and barely believed his eyes. He didn't recognize the place anymore. Of course, the last time he had seen it and paid attention to the upstairs part, it had been going up in flames. Or turned into briquettes as Thea had put it. The thought of his sister brought a twinge to his heart. His mother had called and told him she still didn't remember, though she finally believed her and the doctors that Oliver was not a hallucination. Now she was excited to see him again, but the doctors had decided to hold off on that for a day or two to assert the effects of the drug and assure she was in the right state of mind to meet him. His mother was with her and Walter had been allowed to see her once it was established that she remembered him, though his mother had mentioned that only in passing.

"I heard about Thea," Tommy announced sadly. "Man, that sucks!" He came over and gave Oliver a tight hug. He couldn't imagine what it must feel like to have one's sister wake up from a coma and not remember him. Though Thea was like a sister to him as well, Tommy hadn't gone to see her yet. He wanted to, but it felt wrong to visit her while his best friend – her brother – wasn't allowed. Tommy felt like Oliver should come first, especially since he hadn't seen Thea in five years before his miraculous return from Lian Yu. He patted his friend on the back gently, hoping to offer him some comfort. For a moment, he saw pain flicker across Oliver's face, but it was gone in an instant.

"But at least she's awake. The worst is behind us." Oliver didn't sound too convinced, but he grit his teeth because his sister was alive and reasonably well after being drugged and almost kidnapped and God knows what else would have happened.

"That's right," Tommy agreed quickly. "It's going to be uphill from here. And, hey, I... I'm here if you need me. If you need someone to... talk, okay?"

Oliver smiled shakily and nodded. Tommy's attempt at cheering him up had certainly matured with him, he realized with a small chuckle. A few years ago, he would have suggested filling a pool with champagne and inviting a couple of models to go skinny-dipping. And while that had been fun that time, Oliver really wasn't that guy anymore either. Now, instead, they tried to build themselves something, even if Oliver himself had ulterior motives.

He looked around the club again. It had undergone quite the transformation from the derelict factory it had been when he'd returned. Now everything was shiny and new and clean, he noticed. Tables had been spread around the edges and up on the balustrade that led to Tommy's office. There were a couple of green banners draped around the less aesthetically looking steel columns and the bar was stocked with everything anyone could ever ask for. Oliver noticed a bottle and two whiskey glasses on the counter. There was obviously something to celebrate.

"So, what's the surprise?", he asked Tommy, who came toward him with a wide grin on his face when he noticed them.

Tommy stretched out his arms.

"This is," he answered cheerfully. "It's done."

"The club?", Oliver asked disbelievingly.

"Yup, Construction is finished, we're up to date on all city regulations and the health inspector has signed off on it. We are officially open for business. What do you think?"

Oliver was struck speechless. To be honest, with everything that had happened since he started realizing his idea for the club, he had not only almost forgotten about it, he had also almost stopped believing it would ever actually open. But his friend had done the unexpected and had finished his project, something Oliver himself had started as a cover. Tommy seemed to grow into his role as manager. He obviously liked it quite a bit judging by how widely he was grinning. His friend was justly proud of his accomplishment. With focus and determination he had brought their project – no, Oliver had to admit that by now it was more Tommy's project than his – to fruition.

"I-I'm awed, speechless. Just... no words," the answer stumbled out of him eventually. "This is amazing. It looks... amazing. You did a great job, Tommy. Whatever I'm paying you, it's obviously not enough."

Tommy chuckled.

"Thanks, that was the reaction I was hoping for. Is it too early to ask for a raise?", he joked. "No, really, I'm glad you like it. There's just one more thing to decide..."

He led them over to the bar and poured them both a glass of whiskey. Diggle declined when Tommy offered to get another one. They clinked their glasses together and took a sip. The whiskey went down smoothly, leaving a pleasant burn in its wake. Oliver nodded appreciatively; Tommy certainly knew how to choose good alcohol.

"What's that?"

"You never told me the name of the club, you dolt," Tommy told him with a smirk.

"Ah..." Oliver hadn't really thought about it. The name had never been important as it was only going to be his cover and it would be his name to attract people into the club. Now he looked around, considering the importance of a name for the first time, because it meant so much to his friend, so it meant something to him. His gaze fell on the green decorations Tommy had chosen and he thought back to his polygraph test. It was time to make good on his word to Detective Lance. "I was thinking of... Verdant... and I've got an idea for the promotional party."

Tommy poured another drink.

"I'm all ears."

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

A little while later they were planning the details and Tommy's knack for setting up incredible parties in record time showed itself again as he'd already organized all the staff, booze, candied fruit and other details every good party needed. He had even talked to a few potential live acts who were in town and waiting for a call from him. Oliver was just explaining his idea in detail and informing Tommy about the custom-made arrows he'd organized for the theme of the event when his phone buzzed.

"Another Russian model?"

"American," Oliver replied nonchalantly. Then a purposefully wicked smile crept onto his face. "I don't discriminate."

"Alright, alright, I'll go find those arrows."

"Back office," Oliver told him. He'd had Diggle move some there after the polygraph in case Detective Lance wanted to check up on them. "Diggle can help you."

He waited till they were both out of earshot, though not without John sending him a meaningful look, before he answered.

"She escaped," the distorted voice told him quietly. Unexpectedly, it was Wildcat.

"So it's White Canary?"

"Chances are looking good – or bad, I suppose," the other man replied. He sounded tired and scared, which gave Oliver pause. So, whoever this White Canary woman was, she was bad news.

"Why are you calling?"

"Because I haven't told her yet. She's... had to deal with a lot today. And I- I want to take care of this before she gets hurt."

"Didn't you say something about her kicking my ass for leaving her on the roof to confront the other archer alone? How do you think she'll react to-"

"-more macho heroics? Exactly how you think she'll react. She'll punch us both through a wall. Are you in?"

Oliver hesitated momentarily. But it was better to ask for forgiveness than permission. Tommy would understand and Diggle would know to pretend he'd escaped him again, but also know where to find him.

"Let me gear up."

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(The Hideout)_

Having found the main hall of the club empty, he had sighed dramatically and been a good sport toward Tommy's well-intended ribbing, before he'd swiftly made his way around the building to the secondary outer entrance to the underground lair. Diggle found Oliver already wearing his green leather suit, though he was still strapping his throwing darts into their various pouches along his jacket. He was quietly talking to a phone that had been placed in front of the computer. So Diggle had been right in thinking that it had been his encrypted phone to buzz. He would have wondered what news it had brought, but considering Oliver's change of outfit and his determined, menacing stance Diggle could guess.

"We need a better way to communicate," Oliver was saying as Diggle came to stand beside him.

" _Yeah, well, you don't have any of our comms anymore, so unless you give me your frequency we're gonna have to strap that phone to your ear."_

Oliver grumbled but gave Wildcat the desired answer.

"Where's Black Canary?"

"Far away from this, for now." Diggle looked up at Oliver.

"You're keeping her away? I don't like this," the bodyguard told them.

" _No, me neither, but the other Canary has been spotted near the docks. She's getting bolder, acting in broad daylight... I don't like that either."_

"And I don't like going out in broad daylight, but if needs must...," Oliver added.

"You should call her," his friend insisted.

"And we will, just as soon as I've gotten a good look at this other woman," Oliver agreed.

"Oliver-"

"She froze, yesterday. People were saying mean things to her and she just froze. So don't start with me, Diggle," the vigilante snarled in return, harsher than he had intended.

"She never set out to be a killer, so you can't expect her to not care when people think that of her like- uh..."

"Like they do me," Oliver finished for him. "Yeah, I reminded them of that yesterday. I had to, because she was unwilling to act. She is in no fit state to face this White Canary assassin."

"So you're protecting her? Is that what you two tell yourselves? That you're doing her a favor?"

 _"No, I'm fully aware that she'll kick us where it hurts when she_ _finds out_ _and that she doesn't need us to fight her battles for her, but, well, it doesn't stop friends from trying, does it?"_ , Wildcat questioned him and with this Diggle couldn't really argue. He knew if it were Carly or Layla, he would do the same thing, irrespective of what they would think about it.

"Alright. So long as you know what you're doing...", he agreed reluctantly. "Do you need backup?"

" _It probably wouldn't go amiss."_ This was Wildcat piping up. _"White Canary has a certain reputation."_

"I figured it might be time for another test drive... I'll call Huntress and have her meet me at the usual spot."

"Not what I meant," Diggle and Wildcat chimed together, but Oliver had already disconnected Wildcat's call. It took only a moment for the other vigilante to reestablish communications through the comm system, but by that time Oliver was already on the phone with Huntress.

"I need backup. Meet me on the roof."

There was a moment of pensive silence on the other line. Then he heard an angry scoff. Oliver had put it on speaker.

" _I told you, I'm not sure I want-"_

"Well, now's when you've got to choose. I can't keep giving you free passes. You've had time to think it through, now either you're in this life or you're out. Make a choice!", Oliver told her with some exasperation. She couldn't keep oscillating between two contradictory positions. He understood guilt better than anybody, but either she wanted to make a difference and one day maybe get her father, or she wanted nothing to do with vigilantism. She couldn't have both; it was time for her to acknowledge that.

There was a moment of terse silence on the line until Helena hung up.

" _That went well,"_ Wildcat commented.

"She'll be there," Oliver said with conviction. Diggle gave him a look, but his friend only put on the mask and pulled the hood over his face.

"Just... be careful," the veteran warned him.

"Yes, dad," Oliver saluted him.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

Good advice, as it turned out it didn't take long to find her.

The resemblance was striking. A long blond wig, dark make up and domino mask and the skin-tight black leather outfit could have fooled anyone. But Oliver had spent enough time with Black Canary to notice the difference in the way this woman moved. Oliver slowed his approach in order to get a better look at the woman. She was walking up and down the roof he and Canary used to meet up, suggesting that she had knowledge of their habits. Oliver cursed internally; they should have avoided forming a habit that could be exploited in the first place. He hid in the shadows of a nearby rood and watched her for a few more minutes.

It was obviously a trap, hoping to catch him unaware or maybe provoke the real Black Canary. The mirage was certainly very good. She must have prepared for quite awhile, putting together snippets of stories in order to piece together Canary's appearance. What his Canary had said about White Canary wanting to be the opposite of her came to mind again; could she have really changed her tactic so drastically or was this someone else entirely? Still, with White Canary having escaped and this woman's appearance, the times matched up too perfectly to be a coincidence, didn't they?

He was so caught up in trying to figure out the mystery that he didn't see Helena until she was already on the roof. For a moment, doubt filled him, wondering if they were working together. But he hadn't realized how good the mirage was until was too late and this false Canary and Huntress were already locked in a vicious fight! Helena had approached thinking that was the real Black Canary and now she was being driven off the roof for her mistake. Step by step, the blond forced her to retreat further and further toward the edge.

"Shit," Oliver muttered.

" _What's going on?",_ Wildcat and Diggle asked through the comms.

"She's about to throw Helena off the roof."

Oliver let an arrow sail through between them, making the Canary look up toward him. It should have given Helena time to retreat from the edge, but the Huntress chose to tackle her opponent instead. Both women ended up sprawled on the roof. Oliver took advantage of the momentary confusion to breach the distance. The Canary was the first the get up. At this proximity Oliver realized a significant difference between her and the real Black Canary; she carried a sword on her back. She drew it then, ready to skewer Huntress for the aggression, but Oliver held up his bow to block the downward strike, allowing Helena to roll out of the way.

She fired off her crossbow, but the Canary skillfully deflected the shot with her sword, while swinging around to try and clock Oliver. He ducked under the attack and landed a punch in her side. The woman stumbled backward from the impact, but there was no discernible discomfort in her expression. Oliver narrowed his eyes at her pain tolerance, only to move in for another attempt. He swung at her with his bow and saw Helena jump in through his peripheral vision. She'd brought two daggers which she used to slash at their opponent. Neither one of them had any luck, though, as the Canary seemed to dance between their attacks. A quick stab had Oliver jump back hastily when suddenly his bow was wrenched from his hand.

The Canary had cunningly placed the strike precisely between the curvature of the bow and the string, allowing her to yank the weapon away with a twist of her sword. Oliver exchanged a quick look with Huntress. At her almost imperceptible nod, he backed away to retrieve his weapon, while she engaged their enemy alone for a moment. The two women barely took a few steps to circle each other, before Canary pounced with a swift downward curve of the blade. When Helena successfully sidestepped, the strike changed direction mid-air to follow her movement, forcing her to jump lest her legs be cut off. Changing her stance then allowed the Canary a quick, tight turn on her heel to aim again for Helena's head. The Huntress had to bring both her daggers up to block the attack.

A quick thinker, Helena brought her arm over the blunt top of the blade, locking it in between her body and her arm. She turned sideways in the same motion to disarm the Canary before she could pull back the sword and slash open Huntress' entire flank. The Canary let go of the sword without hesitation, choosing instead to use Helena's momentary vulnerability to kick her hard in the side. Huntress gasped when her ribcage protested the sudden pressure, air emptying from her lungs. Unbalanced, she stumbled dangerously close to the edge, falling to her knees and holding herself up with her hands as she slowly regained her breath, while the sword she had just won from her opponent cluttered to the ground not two feet away from the Canary.

Oliver, having recovered his bow, pounced on the other woman when she moved to retrieve her weapon. A swift kick of his own sent the Canary sprawling. He moved to cock an arrow, but a swift arc of her leg sent his bow flying again. He had time to think that perhaps he should be taping that to his hand, while he also sought to step on the Canary to keep her down and she rolled sideways to evade him and kicked him in the shin. The burning sensation that spread from his leg cost him a precious second in which she righted herself. He blocked her first punch, but she merely grabbed onto his arm unexpectedly and used the leverage to throw him down. She'd recovered her sword. It's business end was pointed at him and his mind was frantically searching for a solution when a loud whirring noise and a light wind distracted them momentarily.

A news chopper was approaching the roof. Oliver was ready to use the distraction to extract himself from the situation when Canary refocused her gaze on him, pressing the sword closer to his throat while nonchalantly – and apparently without properly aiming – throwing a small knife in the chopper's general direction. It hit the cameraman in the leg, making her skill both impressive and frightening as the camera crashed down next to his head. The sword transitioned in her hand from a cutting to a stabbing position, Oliver raised his arm uselessly as if to defend himself when a small bold embedded itself into her shoulder. Helena had recovered enough to shoot at her and was deftly placing another bold onto the crossbow. The Canary calmly pulled the bold out of her shoulder and Oliver couldn't help but noticed the lack of blood on it.

" _She must be wearing some sort of armor underneath the leather. Maybe chain mail, like our archer friend?"_ , Wildcat's voice reached him through the comm. Oliver wondered how he knew there was no blood. Involuntarily, he glanced up and found that the news crew was filming again. The camera man had been taken further inside, but the reporter had a smart phone because of course he did... Oliver made a broad gesture to tell them to leave, but didn't bother looking to check if they did. There was no change in the noisy backdrop of air movement, so he guessed they ignored him.

"It explains why she felt so little when I hit her," Oliver agreed quietly.

" _That will make it difficult to take her down. Your only points of attack are_ _h_ _er face and maybe her joints – if you could twist them...,"_ Diggle told him through the line. _"Considering that she's apparently kept you at a distance so far, one of you will probably have to hold her_ _down_ _for that to work,_ _though_ _."_

"You were both right," Oliver admitted. "She's certainly a nasty piece of work."

While they had never technically said that, it had certainly been implied in the conversation. Still, the compliment seemed out of character.

"See why I called Huntress in on this."

He could practically see both of them roll their eyes, even if Wildcat's face was merely a generic one in his imagination since he hadn't seen under the helmet so far. Oliver grunted; a problem for another time. He and Helena were cautiously approaching the Canary again. Oliver gave Huntress a signal to move a bit further out, cover more ground so she couldn't break away across the side. This Canary though had apparently no intention to break away. Instead she sheathed her sword and drew out several of her small, lethal throwing knives. Sending them in their general direction forced them to duck, which led to Canary pouncing on Helena first. Wrapping her legs around the other woman and twisting, twisting until Huntress flew backwards and crashed against the wall of the small access point to the roof. She pulled out another knife and put it to Helena's throat before Oliver could breach the distance. He stopped, raising his hands carefully.

"Where is she?", the unknown woman spoke for the first time. She, too, used a voice distortion device, so it was impossible to make anything out.

Oliver hesitated, but the Canary pressed the blade into Helena's neck until she drew a thin line of blood.

"I'll write it in her blood if necessary," she threatened. "Now, where is she?"

"Busy, can I help?", Oliver answered with more daring than he felt inside.

"Tell her to face me," she told him with deadly calm. "Now leave."

Oliver sent a pointed look at Helena.

"I'm not interested in her. She'll live if you're gone in the next thirty seconds. If not or if you try anything, this one dies." The woman then cast a look at the chopper, pulling out a few more knives and embedding them in the side of the machine as a show of force. One went straight through the reporter's phone, ending the transmission. This finally got them to turn tail, making Oliver grunt in annoyance. He cast a glance at Helena. There was nothing he could do here for her and though he didn't trust this Canary one bit, it was Helena's best chance at survival.

"I'll wait a few blocks away, behind Big Belly Burger's. If she's not with me in five minutes, the next arrow will go straight through your traitorous tongue," he promised her darkly. A nod suggested she had understood, though whether or not she cared was a different matter. He nodded at Helena and made his way off the roof and over to his bike. The following drive and brief wait were the longest five minutes of his life since the island. The restraint necessary to stop from pacing and possibly alerting someone to his presence made him grind his teeth.

 _"There was nothing you could do,"_ Diggle tried to calm him.

"I know. It doesn't help," he deadpanned in reply. "What if- Is she a woman of her word?"

" _Yes. White Canary has a very strict code of conduct. Honor is everything. She killed her twelve brothers when they brought shame to their father."_

" _Charming. Real family values,"_ Diggle commented.

" _Oh, it gets weirder. The father deliberately had twelve sons to represent the twelve signs of the Chinese zodiac. He thought he would be immortal through them or something. If one of his concubines gave birth to a daughter, the girl was killed immediately along with her mother,"_ Wildcat told them grimly. _"White Canary was the only one allowed to live, for some reason. The man was disgusting; he indoctrinated his sons and one daughter with those_ _same_ _strict codes."_

"Wait, did you say Chinese zodiac?", Oliver asked, suddenly interested. He noticed movement from the side and realized with no small amount of relief that Helena had quietly joined him. "White Canary's family was Asian?"

" _Yes, why?",_ Wildcat questioned.

"The woman we just fought was Caucasian," Helena answered for him. "Like... uh... our Black Canary – and she was dressed in black, not white."

" _We thought she'd changed tactics, but what if it isn't her?",_ Diggle suggested.

" _But we confirmed that White Canary escaped from Belle Reve."_

"That doesn't mean she came here," Oliver told them. "Arguably, this could be someone else. Someone completely new."

"Why though?",Helena asked out loud what they were all thinking, crossing her arms over her chest. "What beef could she have with your girlfriend that birdie and her nameless friend apparently don't know about?"

" _Whatever the reason, we won't figure it out now,"_ Diggle chimed in again, ever the voice of reason. _"You two need to get off the streets; it's broad daylight. This stint was already dangerous enough."_

 _"We should also talk to Black Canary about it,"_ Wildcat added. _"If it isn't White Canary, she might have an idea."_ He didn't mention that he'd been involved in her fight against crime since the start. Obviously, there might be things that she hadn't told him, although he doubted it when it came to this.

" _And you might want to avoid the news for a couple of days,"_ Diggle also noted with a snort.

"Why?", Oliver asked, suspiciously.

" _Well, they're painting Black Canary as essentially having turned to the dark side-"_

Oliver grunted.

" _-although they're not quite sure whether she was corrupted by you and took it too far for your own liking or you're having a lovers' tiff..."_

Oliver rolled his eyes.

 _"The_ _B_ _attling Battle Couple – not kidding, the headline_ _is online already_ _,"_ Diggle delighted in telling him.

Oliver groaned, while Helena barked out a laugh. He cast her a glare, but she merely waved goodbye, her mood severely improved by the chance to jibe at him. Oliver made a quick step forward to grab her arm. Held in place, she turned around to him again with a frown.

"This is your choice," he informed her. "I won't give you anymore leeway."

She scowled at him and gave him a mock salute, before leaving.

"I will be mistress of my own fate, thank you very much," she left him with. Oliver was puzzled, but had more pressing matters to focus on.

"And I think there's someone else I might ask, before meeting Black Canary tonight," Oliver announced quietly, thinking back to the unexpectedly strong reaction he had witnessed at the hospital.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Starling General)_

Which was where he found himself not half an hour later. The nurse looked at him strangely, reminding him of the doctor's desire for caution. It wasn't until he told her that he was there to see a friend and not his sister, ignoring the accompanying pang in his chest, that she let him go onward. He found his way through the corridors well enough, a fact that made him slightly uncomfortable. Since he'd returned, he had spent way too much time in the hospital for one reason or another. Looking back briefly, he thought he could see the same thing on Diggle's face two. The veteran had fallen back a little to give Oliver space when someone at CNRI had told him that Laurel had come here during lunch break and then called ahead that she would have to stay a while longer. She had seemed okay last time he had seen her and he was worried what might have changed. He found her, finally, having her pulse counted by a nurse with a doctor uncharacteristically standing nearby.

"Healthy as a horse," the nurse told them both with a smile.

"I don't understand it," the doctor muttered, shaking his head at her.

"I have a good constitution," Laurel offered. She wanted to roll her eyes, badly, but then she might never be allowed to leave. She knew agreeing to come here again was a mistake, but it was the only way the doctors could see themselves letting her go last night. She was fine now, which, of course, was the main problem. Because she shouldn't be fine after what she'd gone through so recently. The doctors could not understand it and her suggestion of a 'good constitution' didn't begin to explain it. She could hardly tell them the truth, though, could she? It was a quite long-winded story about her mother and her heritage – or the parts of it she actually inherited – and one they would never believe. Or if they did, she might disappear in some military lab as a human test subject.

"Laurel?", Oliver called her softly from the side.

"Oliver, hi," she greeted him enthusiastically. Anything to get away from the doctors. "Are you visiting your sister?"

"No, I- uh, I can't. They want to see if she's stable first..."

"Oh, I'm sorry. That's terrible; you should be allowed to see her," Laurel huffed with real annoyance. With all the guilt Oliver felt toward what had happened to Thea and the long wait he and his family had had before she woke up, they shouldn't be keeping him from his family.

"Thanks," Oliver said sincerely. He offered her a small smile. "I dropped by CNRI to ask you something and they told me you were here. Is everything alright?"

"Yes, just a check-up because I foolishly signed myself out of medical care last night," Laurel joked lightly. "And I still don't handle paternity suits."

His smile broadened.

"I'll remember that if it ever becomes relevant. But... uh, I was wondering if you knew of any other vigilante copycats?"

"Of the Hood?"

Oliver shook his head.

"No, of the Black-uh-clad woman," he managed to save. "You just seemed very convinced yesterday that it wasn't her, so... I was wondering if this had happened before. You know, while I was... away."

Laurel's head tilted in question, but she didn't voice it. His sudden interest was a tad suspicious, given that they'd talked about it yesterday, even if he didn't know it had been her he had talked to. Oh, she was getting a headache from this game of partner swapping – or alias swapping...

"Not that I'm aware, but she's been doing this so long, it doesn't make sense for her to just start killing one day. It's not her MO."

"People change," Diggle offered, turning Laurel's attention onto him.

"Not that drastically, not overnight. There would have been other signs first," she insisted.

"Well, she is working with the Hood. Or she was, until she tried to kill him," Oliver reminded her, alluding to the fight on the news.

"Kill him?! When?"

"Oh, didn't you see? It's all over the news."

"I've been stuck here since noon. I haven't seen a television..." She didn't finish the sentence as she walked into the nurses' room despite protests and switched on the TV to a news channel. She narrowed her eyes as she watched the images from the fight play on loop. Gritting her teeth, she tried to swallow her anger, chanting internally that Oliver didn't know who she was to remind herself not to blow her cover. Not without proper thought. She gripped the remote so tight, the casing popped off and she had to fumble to put it back together. Laurel briefly counted her lucky stars that it didn't crack. Instead of turning around and scolding both men for this stunt, she took a deep breath and pointed the remote angrily at the news. "That's slander! They don't even bother to point out the discrepancies. People don't just start using a sword one day and cutting others down. Not to mention the throwing knives..."

"You think it's shoddy reporting," Oliver said quietly.

She slammed the remote angrily on the table. The nurses hurried out of the room, some muttering something about calling security, and Diggle quickly closed the door behind them for some privacy. Laurel was getting rather worked up about all of this, he thought.

"Since she started working with the Hood, as you pointed out Mr Diggle, the crime rate has continued to drop as has the rate of vigilante-related deaths. If anything one might say that he's changing."

"You feel very strongly for this Woman in Black," Diggle pointed out.

Laurel looked taken aback for a moment. She had forgotten herself, she realized, then sighed heavily. "She's... helped CNRI in the past, providing evidence that allowed us to get convictions. Including Cyrus Vanch's first conviction. I never mentioned her involvement because... well..."

"Because the court might overturn the rulings if the decisive material came from a vigilante. And CNRI might face legal issues if it came out that they'd collaborated with a vigilante on their cases," Diggle concluded. So she'd been protecting her law firm. "But you did work with the Hood."

"The Hood came to me with a case I couldn't refuse," Laurel explained with a rueful smile. "And no one was supposed to know about my asking him for help with the firebug, but... my father... had bugged the stupid badge I was asked to give him! Thankfully, people seemed more focused on the fact that he'd taken me hostage when the police stormed the roof. There's still some debate of whether or not I was working for my father as bait at the time."

"So you have no idea who this could be?," Oliver reiterated. "This never happened before?"

"No," Laurel replied. "Though why the sudden interest?"

"She saved my life and Thea. It's just... I wish I could return the favor."

"Oliver, you went to meet a drug lord for your sister. That's one stupid stunt enough, don't you think?", Laurel chastised him.

"Your father told you," Oliver concluded.

"He mentioned it in one of the rants on why you're dangerous and I need to stay away, yeah," Laurel lied smoothly. She was getting too damn good at lying to him. Her father had been right; something to think about. She watched Oliver step forward with a soft, seductive smile and raised an eyebrow. It was not the reaction she had expected. She vaguely noticed Diggle rolling his eyes and turning away from them.

"And will you?"

She cocked her head to the side as if in contemplation.

"What did you have in mind?"

Oliver moved a little closer, embracing her. Her hands moved to wrap themselves around bits of his shirt of their own accord, so she could tug him closer. This was such a bad idea, but she melted into his ambrace anyway. He kissed the corner of her mouth, then she felt the stubble of his beard run softly along her cheek until his lips were pressed against her ear.

"I'm opening Verdant tonight," he whispered against the shell, pausing briefly to nibble on her earlobe. "Be my plus one?"

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Ted's Gym)_

"You went behind my back!", Laurel called angrily, before she was even fully through the door that evening. It had taken awhile to get the doctors off her back, but eventually she'd managed to convince them it was a fluke and she'd been very lucky and she should be extremely grateful that she'd been so lucky and made them think it was their idea all along. Yes, Doc! She was still fuming when she'd returned to work, no doubt about whose idea it had been to keep her in the dark in the first place. Ted looked up at her, but didn't seem overly worried. Or apologetic. He sighed at her from where he sat and pointed at the screen. He was sitting in front of their row of computers and when Laurel joined him, she saw the image of her own mother greeting her from the middle screen.

" _Hi sweetie,"_ the older woman greeted.

"Hi mom," she replied, before turning back to Ted. "You went behind my back."

The statement was calmer now, but no less accusatory.

"You were at the hospital. It's hardly going behind your back when you're unavailable. I merely used the resources at my disposal."

Laurel scoffed at him.

"You could have called. I would've-"

"What? Run from the hospital and the doctors and rushed into battle?"

"I'm perfectly fine. You know I heal fast," she told him, annoyed.

"That doesn't mean I – we – don't worry about you." He pointed between himself and the screen, but Laurel sucked in a breath knowing he was also talking about Oliver and Diggle who didn't even know that she was a tough nut to crack, so to speak.

"Don't drag my mother into this," Laurel said rather than acknowledging the unspoken subtext.

" _But he's right, sweetie. You're not invincible and White Canary is dangerous. She nearly killed me last time we met,"_ her mother warned.

"I know, mom."

"It's not White Canary," Ted announced suddenly, jumping at the chance to distract Laurel. Both women focused their attention on him, so he went on. "Oliver and Helena fought a Caucasian woman this afternoon. She can't be White Canary."

Laurel nodded.

"That explains why he came to me asking if I knew about other copycats. If it had happened before."

" _But I talked to Waller. She confirmed, albeit reluctantly, that White Canary had escaped from prison."_

"Prison?", Ted asked. "Or her little science project?"

The older woman looked pensive for a moment.

" _She didn't mention anything about her Suicide Squad, but I wouldn't put it past her to try to recruit White Canary. Her tactics can be quite... persuasive."_

"Yes, I saw that. It nearly blew me to kingdom come too when I was last in Gotham," Laurel muttered darkly. "That woman is a monster."

"I agree, but she's not responsible for our problem now," Ted reiterated. "Whoever this new woman is, she's good. She held Oliver and Helena at bay at the same time. Nearly killed both of them."

" _Do you need help, sweetie? I could come over."_

Ted and Laurel shared a glance.

"No, it's okay, mom. We'll handle this."

Somehow.

" _You're sure?"_

 _No,_ Laurel thought, but she gave a nod anyway. Her mother didn't need to be dragged into this any further. She had retired from this line of work ages ago. The most she did today was help her out with research and sometimes train some of the newer heroes. Her mother loved her civilian life, her job as a professor in Central City. She didn't need to be pulled back into this world.

"You've done enough."

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Verdant)_

The lights dim, the music loud. Shadows reaching everywhere, shrouding dancers and lovers from sight. And the club was packed with them. Tommy really knew how to throw a short-notice gig with tremendous success. He and Oliver were standing up on the balustrade looking down at their guests caressing, tugging at and grinding against one another to the heady beat of their guest DJ. Tommy had shown him the bookings for the next few weeks, while he looked into a permanent music ensemble and it could certainly compete with any major clubs in the city. Oliver was again flattened by his friend's talent and dedication, jokingly saying that he should own the club in truth since Oliver had no idea what he was doing.

"Just stand here and look pretty," Tommy told him with a smirk, referencing the fact that they had built this club on Oliver's name and reputation. The man in question scoffed good-naturedly and the friends shared a laugh. He looked back down, smirking as he saw all the arrows and masks that had been handed out as gimmicks for their opening night on various guests. Many of them had turned up in shades of green as the party was themed for the new vigilante, whose popularity was still sailing on his effort to rescue the Dark Archer's hostages. It irked Oliver a bit that these same people, who had called him a murderer and now called him a hero, would so easily forget that he hadn't been alone in facing the other archer, but he put that thought out of his mind for the evening in order to focus on his conversation with Tommy and their success.

"You've outdone yourself, pal. Again," he complimented.

"Well, I wouldn't wanna brag, but... yeah, I kinda smashed it, didn't I?"

He allowed Tommy his self-satisfied smirk. He had more than deserved it.

"Can you imagine Detective Lance's face if he saw all the green arrows and masks we're giving out?", Tommy went on. "Of course, if our guests aren't careful, they might cause a wave of arrests for vigilantism. I can already see the headline: Cops arrest vigilante party-goers!"

"Let's hope we don't start this club with that headline?"

"Well, they could write that the club is so much fun, it's practically illegal..."

"And then we might be open only this one night."

"But one night with a bang!", Tommy joked. "And the station would probably be up-cycled by all the pretty faces they'd collect."

"And I see lots of pretty things here tonight," Oliver muttered with a measure of fake enthusiasm.

"Yes," Tommy replied, "speaking of, I spy with my little eye one pretty little thing at nine o'clock."

Oliver turned in the direction his friend was pointing and found none other than Laurel walking up the stairs to the balustrade, wearing a bright emerald green dress that hugged her curves. She'd forgone to put on the mask and was instead wearing it around her neck like jewelry. She carried the arrow in her hand along with her clutch as she approached them.

"Evening boys," she greeted them playfully. "Quite the party you put together here."

The two men pointed at each other.

"His idea," Tommy said.

"His execution," Oliver added, mouth dry.

"Compliments to both of you. I especially like the 'take that' you're sending my father with this," she told them, half-serious. The very slight scolding in her tone made them look at each other, not feeling guilty in the least. "I guess there's only one question left to answer, then."

"What's that?"

"Which one of you will take me dancing first?", she asked, extending a hand in their general direction as an invitation.

Tommy smirked, noticing her eyes kept flitting back to Oliver. Oh, he had seen this coming since he had found her guilt-tripping herself on the roof of CNRI over a stupid kiss. So he indicated for Oliver to take her hand.

"Go on, take the lady dancing. I've got some manager things to do," he offered, before he leaned in toward Oliver to add to it in a whisper only he could her. "Just remember that she's not some model you seduce and then never have to see again. She's your friend."

"Have fun, kids," he said out loud again.

Oliver ignored Laurel's confused look as he led her back down the stairs. He was a bit wounded that Tommy would think it necessary to issue such a warning, but he had to admit that he'd certainly helped create that image in his head. He decided to put that out of his mind too for the night and focus on Laurel's coquettishly smiling face instead. He led her out onto the dance floor. The crowd parted for them easily, even while he got a few compliments for the club and pats on the back from their guests. He smiled and nodded at people and thanked them, but even as he briefly talked to others he could feels most of his focus remained fixed on his lovely companion.

The beat of the music turned headier, more sensual as they began to dance. For a moment all Oliver did was watch Laurel sway her body to the music. He joined her only when he realized she had moved slightly away from him. Catching up with her, he moved an arm loosely around her to allow her to keep moving but keep her close to him. Close enough that he felt every movement of her sinuous body. His lips moved from her temple, ghosting along her cheek and neck. His other hand moved to blaze a trail of fire along her other side, from her ribcage to her thigh.

He swore he could almost feel the goosebumps forming on her skin even through the softness of her dress. It rode up a little when he started to skim his hand back up, tempting him to dip it briefly beneath the line of the hem to caress her skin. She wasn't wearing any stockings. He lingered there, softly rubbing his thumb over her thigh when he heard her gasp. Perhaps he lingered a little longer than was yet comfortable between the two, because she raised an arm to run her hand through his short hair and grip tightly what strands she could take hold of.

She gave a soft, but decisive tug as she turned around to face him. An apology swam in his eyes, which she accepted with a kiss to his lips. Both his hands moved to rest on her back, pressing her close until not even a sheet of paper would have fit between them. The music changed again, softening to a more lovely tune, inviting the dancers to sway close together on the spot. Soon the music would have to change again to something more up-beat, because Verdant was a night club, but Oliver welcomed the air of tranquility that seemed to shroud them for the moment.

To hell with his rules, he thought as he looked into her eyes. His hand moved underneath her chin and his eyes dropped intentionally to her lips. He could see his own anticipation reflected in Laurel's eyes as she licked her lips, but he moved in slowly, giving her time to retreat. Time for them both to retreat. Their noses touched and neither one of them seemed to be thinking of jumping apart. They had no idea where this passion between them would lead and both their own brand of trepidation regarding it, but their eyes closed at the first soft caress of their lips.

Then the ceiling crashed down on all of them, screams and shrieks filling the room. The other Canary had suddenly dropped down through a skylight and onto the middle of the dance floor. It cleared of guests and staff faster than Oliver would have thought possible, even as he pushed Laurel behind him and herded her toward the exit. The false Canary pulled out her sword when a well-placed shot by Diggle made it clutter to the ground again. Looking up, she rolled forward and threw one of her knives to disarm him, then proceeded to make quick work of the club security. The club was emptying fast and Oliver could hear several people calling the cops, not least of all Laurel who had pulled a phone from God knew where since he hadn't seen her carry a bag when she came to him.

"Go," he told her.

"But, Oliver, you-"

"I'll be right behind you, go!"

And, thankfully, she ran. He did run after her; he could already hear the sirens outside. There was nothing the Hood could do about this. They made it outside, but he couldn't spot Tommy or Diggle, so he turned to her to tell her he was going back in.

"I need to check if Tommy and John and everyone else made it out."

"She's still in there!"

"I'll be careful, but I can't just leave them there."

She nodded reluctantly.

"I should probably call my father. If he finds out from a colleague that I was here while this happened, he'll kill us both," she tried to lighten the mood with humor, but even her own fake smile faltered a little at how disheartened she looked.

"Everything is going to be fine," Oliver promised, framing her face with his hands and kissing her forehead. "It'll be okay."

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

Nothing was okay, of course. He waited until he couldn't see Laurel in the retreating crowd anymore and turned to head back inside, when Diggle suddenly appeared with an unconscious Tommy over his shoulder. Oliver rushed to check on his friend. There was a cut on his forehead, but otherwise he appeared to be fine. Oliver released a sigh of relief.

"He fell and hit his head ducking under a throwing knife. He's fine, but she's on her way out. If you want to get into the... basement, you'll want to go the long way round," Diggle whispered to him, while placing Tommy carefully on the ground a little to the side. Oliver nodded and disappeared, leaving the bodyguard to pull his gun and wait from his vantage point to the side of the club entrance. Once she set a foot outside, he would have a very small window of opportunity to neutralize her, so when he caught movement from the entrance, he didn't hesitate to shoot. But he'd been too eager and had pulled the trigger a little to early, so the bullet actually sailed passed the false Canary. She was quick to throw a knife at him.

Rolling out of its trajectory, Diggle gave her enough time to breach the distance between them. So when he righted himself, he was greeted by her kick across his face. Grunting, the veteran fell backward. He lashed out almost blindly, trying to kick her in the legs, but she merely sidestepped his attack and crashed her foot down heavily on his ribcage. Diggle could feel some of his ribs give way under the assault. The sickening crunch momentarily stole his breath. He tried to raise his gun, only to have it kicked pout of his hand, then he heard the sliding sound of metal as she finally drew her sword from its sheath. It was a slow, deliberate movement. A small smile on her masked face accompanied the action with a glee that made his stomach churn.

Suddenly, the Hood dropped out of nowhere, landing a punch in her face. The woman dropped to the ground, but a quick sideways roll put her on her feet again. The sword was raised in front of her, ready to cut through the oncoming attack of her opponent, but Oliver hovered near Diggle instead. The veteran's chest heaved trying to suck in as much as he could even though his lungs protested with an agonizing burn across his entire chest. A few quick forceful breaths later Diggle pushed himself up with a cry of pain, but he managed to retreat from the fight and pull the still unconscious Tommy he'd deposited several feet away further back. Back to where the crowd, who'd run from the club, had gathered on the other side of the street, frightened but unable to look away. Police cars where beginning to drop in, forming a line between Oliver and the other Canary on one side and the civilians on the other.

Oliver spared them only a glance to assure himself that his friends were okay, but the impostor noticed his distraction and used it to pounce. Oliver barely managed to duck her swipes at his head, his body, even his arm all the while the police organized themselves across from them, only to form another row of spectators. He could hear their whispers even over the noise of their battle, their speculation about him and the Woman in Black and their sudden thirst for each other's blood too loud to be ignored. Oliver rolled away, cocking an arrow in the same motion. He released it before he was fully on his feet again, but this Canary quickly deflected it with her sword. He shot again and again while she approached, hoping to find a weak spot in her defense and perhaps even in her armor, though he did aim for her head and throat in the meantime.

It didn't take her long to close the distance between them. He'd only managed to shoot three arrow before she was upon him. He blocked a strike with her sword, gripping one of his darts tightly in his free hand and moving to stab her in the gut with it. He felt it cut through the leather, but hitting further resistance only confirmed his suspicion about the chain mail. A small cling as the metal head of the dart hit her armor seemed made his stomach drop further. He pulled back and moved to strike again, this time at her neck, but she pushed his block down across his body and stepped forward, putting all her weight into it.

She had intended to stab him in the stomach, but Oliver thankfully still managed to avoid that fate. However, his evasion came to late to prevent her blade from slicing through the side of his leather jacket and tearing into his flesh. He couldn't suppress the pained cry it ripped from his throat as she stepped back to admire her handiwork. His free hand went to his side immediately, trying to hold back the blood rushing from him. Oliver fell backwards onto the ground holding his side. The tear in his flesh burned and he could see blood seep through his hand when he looked down.

He looked up. Again, the false Canary was standing over him, ready to strike down with her sword and end his life.

"Well, what are you waiting for?", he asked her, defiant to the end.

Her eyes narrowed, but she remained immobile. Still, she hesitated... Why?! The crowd had hushed and it took all Oliver's effort not to try to roll over his back to look at them. He hoped Tommy was still unconscious. He hoped Diggle didn't do anything foolish with his bruised and broken ribs. He hoped the police didn't lead themselves to slaughter against this woman. He hoped-

A black blur came crashing down between him and the impostor and the eerie, unnatural silence was breached by the clanking of metal as the assassin was driven back forcefully. Oliver's head fell back gratefully when he recognized Black Canary standing over him, her metal staff locked together and swinging up and down in her hand in irritation while she eyed the other woman. Her head cocked to the side briefly as she took in all the similarities between them. Then her head moved slowly, methodically to take in all the damage the other woman had caused and catalog all the differences between them.

Unlike with him, the false Canary did not use the shift in Black Canary's focus in order to attack. If Oliver saw correctly, she did grip her sword a little tighter, though. There was an odd expression on her face. Oliver couldn't discern all the emotions on them. There was a whole load of anger, to be sure, and distaste, but also something else. Something softer, but dark. Personal, it seemed so personal. Black Canary finally finished looking around by glancing at his prone form.

"Hi honey, I'm home," she said, unable to suppress the smirk.

He grunted.

"Don't encourage them," Oliver replied at the gasp that went through the onlookers. Shouts arose, stating the obvious: that there were two of them – and Oliver wanted to roll his eyes and tell them he told them so. Speculation resumed, but this time he tuned it out, too focused on the fight that would soon ensue between the two Canaries. He pulled himself up. He was still bleeding, but he wasn't going to lie around on the floor uselessly.

"Stay out of this," she warned him. Her tone was dark and threatening.

"If you're mad about this afternoon-", he began, but she cut him off right there.

"I am, but I'm talking about your injury. You'd only be in the way."

It was uncharacteristically harsh, but true. He couldn't fight like this.

"Besides, she attacked me, personally," Black Canary went on. Laurel hesitated for a moment, wondering if she had revealed too much, but Oliver didn't seem to notice her slip. Perhaps he thought she spoke about the copycat's activities to besmirch her name. She quickly turned her attention back to the conversation. "You wanted my attention. Well, you've got it."

Pulling back the sword into an attack position, the other woman let out an infernal cry and charged at Black Canary. The two rapidly exchanged blows as staff and sword clanked together. Black Canary caught her opponent in the stomach with a well-placed jibe, but then she herself was cut across the cheek in a strike to her eye she barely evaded. And so they went on, back and forth, fighting with each other so fluidly, so well-matched that Oliver thought he was watching a practice sparring session between two long-time partners. It seemed to him more like a dance than a fight, even though the lethal intent of the impostor was very clear. He also noticed that their fighting styles weren't actually that different. There was a different edge to the false Canary, a meaner, deadlier spirit to her fighting, but overall they seemed to have many similar skills in their repertoire. He watched as Black Canary realized the same thing. It gave way to a split-second of hesitation that cost her a cut across her arm and the staff being knocked from her hand.

"Canary!", he called out, worried.

Oliver was distracted again when he heard the footsteps approach. Turning, he found a group of police officers in riot gear approach the battling vigilantes. Their faces, as far as he could see them through the visors, looked decidedly unsure, making dread gather in the pit of his stomach. Frightened, uncertain police were the deadliest, in his experience. He needed to end this fight quickly.

"Which one do we shoot?", he heard one officer ask the group, confirming his fears.

"Neither," he barked at them, making them flinch. But they remained hovering at the edge of the battle behind him. He couldn't fight like this, but he needed to put an end to the fight. He looked back at the two women. Black Canary had re-found her balance and was admirably holding her own without a weapon. Following another stab at her eye, she got hold of her opponent's arm and twisted until she let the sword fall to the ground with a scream of pain. Leading her along with the twisted joint for pressure, Black Canary managed to slam her into the wall of the club and rush to retrieve her staff.

The other woman, not to be outdone, ducked under Black Canary's swing while also picking her sword of the ground, leaving the staff to bang uselessly against the wall. As it scraped along, sparks flew through the air from the friction. Oliver blinked slowly at the sight. An idea came to him and he pulled out one of his arrows. Both women looked at him as if he were insane. If he cocked an arrow with that injury he'd likely tear his entire flank open. Oliver, however, merely fingered at the small high tech attachment right behind the arrowhead, until it began whirring and changing from its cool metal color to an iron-hot red. He hesitated only a moment before pressing the burning hot metal against his wound.

The painful yell that tore from his throat attracted the eyes of everyone on the street. His legs gave away from the pain and he dropped to his knees, but he refused to remove the arrow from his side until he'd kitted the wound at least provisionally. His vision turned teary from the effort and his ears didn't catch the insult Black Canary muttered at him.

The false Canary swung toward her neck, but this time another hand stopped her and pulled her away from his partner before she could behead her. The impostor went smashing against the wall for the second time that night as the Huntress intervened in the battle. She and Black Canary exchanged a terse glance, until finally the more seasoned vigilante nodded in acknowledgment. They redoubled their effort to subdue the unknown woman, but she only focused on Helena in order to block her attacks and put her off balance, choosing instead to concentrate most of her energy on her direct enemy. It left her open for attack from behind, which Helena tried to use advantage of, only to find herself almost impaled by a sword on her approach, while the woman kicked at Black Canary. Only thanks to her daggers could Helena deflect the blow, but it proved a swift, powerful attack from the assassin that disarmed Huntress. Both her daggers went flying in opposite directions, before she turned back to engage Black Canary again.

The second time she managed to jump on the woman's back, who haphazardly threw knives out in front of her to distract Black Canary, while she slammed herself back first against the wall, crushing Helena and driving the air from her lungs. A swift butt with her head backward loosened Helena's grip for good, allowing the false Canary to turn around, grab both her shoulders and slam her knee into Huntress' stomach for good measure. Then, with a firm grip, she threw her opponent into the advancing Black Canary, forcing her enemy to catch her.

Helena sank to her knee from disorientation, leaving Black Canary to continue to hold onto her. She swung her staff in a wide arch to keep the other woman at bay, but it was quickly grabbed and torn out of her hand, given the awkward angle at which the vigilante had to use it. It was Helena, still shaking with the effort to breathe, who made best use of the approaching assassin. She waited until the other woman had gotten close enough, before stabbing one of her bolts through her leg. There was a small screech, more surprise than pain, from the other woman, before she hit Huntress over the head with the butt of her sword. Huntress went down and was kicked across the street for good measure.

That retained her attention long enough for Black Canary to kick against her leg, sending the woman stumbling a few feet, but when the vigilante attempted to retrieve her own weapon, a knife embedded itself right next to her hand, making her jump backwards. And just in time, too, to avoid the swing that followed to try and take her head clean off.

Oliver grit his teeth as he watched Black Canary being slowly driven backwards around the corner of his club and into the alley. Tighter spaces, less potential to move and to avoid and now she was unarmed to boot. Finally, some of the burning subsided in his side, though his whole body was still ringing and shaking with the effort of staying conscious. A glance at his side revealed angry red flesh, but at least he wasn't bleeding anymore. Still, the scent of burned skin threatened to make him throw up. He focused on his rage and his fear, allowing them to carry him through the pain and revulsion. He threw the arrow away and went to check on Helena. She was dizzy, but she pulled herself up when he touched her shoulder.

He held up a hand behind him to indicate to the police that they should stay behind. They didn't seem to need much convincing. When he and Helena finally rounded the corner in a haste, the two women were already halfway through the alley and over on the parallel street. Black Canary had apparently found an old piece of metal pipe to defend herself with. She fought surprisingly well with it, holding her own against the sword-wielding killer and even managing to get a few good strikes in here and there, but it was bent and not balanced leaving her at a disadvantage.

"This doesn't make sense," Helena suddenly said. "What did your girlfriend do to piss this bitch off?!"

"She doesn't know her." Or so she and Wildcat claimed.

"Bull. Shit," Helena exclaimed. "You can't have this kind of beef with someone and not know."

He was inclined to agree, but it made no sense for Black Canary not to tell him. Wildcat had been sure it was White Canary, until he and Helena had told him they'd fought a Caucasian. Plus, their Canary had clearly been surprised at how well-matched they were. Surprised enough that the distraction could have cost her her life. But Helena had a point too; this whole situation didn't make sense. The other Canary's vendetta seemed very personal, how could Black Canary not know about it? Oliver shook his head free of the questions. He could confront Black Canary later, so long as they made sure now that there would be a later.

"We'll figure this out later. For now, we need to do something," Oliver finally said.

Helena grunted in irritation.

"Yes, sir," she replied with a mock salute, grabbed the nearby lid of a trash can and threw it in the women's general direction. Black Canary, having them in her line of sight, ducked rapidly. Unfortunately, the other woman didn't miss a beat and, not just ducking herself, she threw herself at their vigilante friend. With surprise on her side, the killer managed to twist herself around her opponent to throw her painfully to the ground. When Black Canary tried to hit her with the pipe, she was punched across the face and had the pipe swiped from her hand.

Oliver cocked another arrow, but had to release the string again before it was fully taught from a sudden stabbing pain in his side. He took a few deep breaths when his vision blurred again. Helena charged as the impostor pulled Black Canary up. Slamming the dazed woman against the wall, where she slumped briefly, the false Canary received Huntress with a swipe of her sword. Helena ducked under it quickly, before landing a punch across the other woman's nose. Striking down on her sword-hand, she didn't wait for it to clutter on the ground before returning the favor of a knee in the stomach.

But the other woman was not so easily struck by her own tactics. She swiftly jumped back half a foot and grabbed Helena's bent leg, pulling her around to throw her down the street against another row of dumpsters. Black Canary's foot came out and hit her across the face, but the woman bounced back quickly to ram the vigilante against the alley wall with all her weight. Oliver could hear the air leave her lungs in a rush, then the gleam of a knife flashed across his vision until the blade rested against Black Canary's throat. He placed an arrow on the string and pulled it back full force, ignoring the raging pain in his flank, without thinking about it.

"Drop the knife," he ordered, his voice tight.

"Why do you do this?", Black Canary asked instead. "What have I done to you?! Why pretend to be me?"

"I'm not the only one pretending here," the woman hissed.

"I said drop it," Oliver repeated, only half listening to the conversation, as the blade was pressed further into his friend's skin. A thin line of blood appeared.

"You're strutting around this city like you're some kind of fucking hero," the woman accused her harshly.

"I'm trying to help," Black Canary told her quietly. She scrutinized the other woman, until something across her shoulder seemed to catch her attention. She turned to Oliver. "Duck."

Oliver hit the ground without thinking twice about it. Then two things happened in very quick succession. The other woman pulled back to lay the finishing blow on Black Canary along with another accusation that didn't make sense.

"Without the Cry, you're as much of an impostor as I-"

 _Cry, what cry?,_ Oliver had time to think, before a new voice rang loud across the quiet of the night.

"Shut your mouth!", came the order before a god-awful screech resonated from every wall. It was like the sonic bombs Black Canary carried around with her, only a hundred times worse, especially since he didn't have any earplugs. He managed a quick glance at Helena, who was also covering her ears for dear life. He vaguely saw a blurry figure at the other end of the alley, but his gaze quickly focused on Black Canary and her assailant again.

The other woman was torn from her victim and thrown clear across the alley until she landed several feet behind even where Oliver laid on the ground. Black Canary managed to hold her position pressed against the wall, but he could tell it was an effort on her part not to be swept away. He wondered where she got the strength. Had she seemed dizzy before, she was fine now. The noise wasn't causing her any problems due to her high tech earplugs, no doubt, but she should still be dazed from the blow to the head she had received a minute ago.

The noise and the pressure subsided and Oliver managed to right himself again. He noticed Canary pushing away from the wall and running toward her assailant, but the woman herself was also up and had already kicked down the side entrance of a neighboring building to disappear inside. Canary was ready to pursue her, but the voice of the newcomer called her back. Oliver saw her help Helena up carefully while the mafia heiress shook her head as if to get the ringing out. Oliver was pretty sure he'd still be hearing that a week from now.

"Let her go," the newcomer said. "These two need our help."

Oliver narrowed his eyes, but he couldn't deny that it took effort just to stand at this point. He didn't know how much until he felt Black Canary's strong frame pressed against his side, pulling his arm over her shoulder and he slumped. They made their way over to the other woman, stopping only for Canary to pick up the impostor's sword, and Oliver finally got a good look at the screamer. She was about the same height as Helena, dark blond hair cut to mid-length. She, too, wore an all-black leather outfit, consisting of a long coat over skin-tight pants and knee-length boots with low heels. She wore gloves as well and a decorative leather band around her neck. There was no way it hid some sort of sonic device, which only left one uncomfortable conclusion.

"You're one of those mutants," he said without thinking. "Like the ones Waller has in Belle Reve."

Black Canary jabbed him in the side angrily.

"We call ourselves meta-humans, actually," she said.

"Et tu, Blondie?", Helena asked with some effort. "I knew there was something off with you? Can you make the earth quake too, then?"

"No, that... is none of your business," she muttered, then she turned to the newcomer. "Thanks for the save."

"You're welcome. I know you said I should stay out of it, but... I couldn't stop thinking about it. As for the Canary Cry, I'm sure it'll come to you eventually, sweetie," the woman replied. Everything clicked in Oliver's head. Diggle had been right. This was the original Black Canary and she was his Canary's mother. It was a family business and she was a mut- meta-human. And that suddenly explained Black Canary's deceptive strength and her quick recovery from injuries.

"You're her mother. You're the first Black Canary," he said. The two women were leading them around several corners far away from the police force and the spectators, some of whom had probably beached the alley by now after the unexpected and deafening scream that was probably heard even on the other side of the city.

"I think we can agree, it's not happening, mom," Black Canary responded, paying him no mind. Something passed on the older woman's face then, something Oliver couldn't quite identify. He let it go, for the moment. The situation was crazy enough without digging into their superhero family history. He looked at Black Canary. He had seen her so often and yet it was like laying eyes on her for the first time. He wondered if it made a difference whether one was born with powers or gained them through drugs. He couldn't help the shudder upon thinking back to his experience with the latter, but Black Canary had always seemed to try to do the right thing, even if it made her a stick-in-the-mud at times. She had always been so upright that it was hard to hold her heritage against her, but some suspicion remained. He swallowed down the irrational fear, even as he realized that they'd arrived at the side entrance to his beta site. What did this woman not know about him?!

"Home, sweet home," Helena piped up sarcastically.

The older Canary snorted in amusement.

"I like her," she announced, sitting Helena down on a desk to check her for a concussion.

"Great," Oliver muttered, but opening his jacket with his back to Helena, so they could treat his wounds. He told his Black Canary where to find the ice packs and went to retrieve some of the salve he'd made from Yao Fei's herbs a while back and some bandages. He'd stored the beta site with all the essentials, just in case his headquarters were ever discovered. He even had a getaway bag stashed beneath a loose floorboard. He applied the salve, then let Black Canary take the bandages and wrap his wound carefully.

"It will leave a scar," she commented.

"Nothing new there," he told her self-deprecatingly.

She nodded.

"I'm sorry you two got caught up in this."

"No, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I have to ignore that Oliver Queen is the fucking Hood after all and I was right all along in favor of working this out, so don't be sorry, tell us who she is," Helena ranted angrily.

"I don't know."

"Bullshit," the Huntress called.

"Watch your mouth," the older Canary told her disapprovingly, eerily reminiscent of her earlier warning. There was a wickedly threatening smile (complete with a show of teeth) on her face when Helena jumped.

"It's true, Helena. I've never met her before. I don't know why she's so upset with me. I don't understand what I've done..."

Her mother came over to her and rubbed her shoulder.

"Sometimes it isn't about what we do, sweetie. Sometimes people just want someone to hate."

But Oliver shook his head.

"No, this was personal. She seemed to take great offense to the fact that you were dressed up as Black Canary, but didn't have this- uh..."

"Canary Cry," both women supplied helpfully.

"Yes, that. The only way we're getting to the bottom of this, is if we get our hands on her. Then maybe we can find out what's got her so riled up," Oliver concluded.

"Yeah, well, you're gonna have to do it without me," Helena told them. "That's what I came to tell you, Queen. I've made my decision. I-I can't do this... with you two. You're so...cold. And you're always watching me like hawks, hoping to catch me in a mistake. It's like you want me to fail! With you I can _only_ fail! I want to bring my father to justice and I want to do something in the world, but... you're suffocating me!"

The two Starling vigilantes looked at her, somewhat guilty as they thought back to that fireman.

"Then go elsewhere," the original Black Canary suggested. "There's plenty of cities that could use someone with your skill and bravery... Admittedly, you could use a little fine-tuning, but I could help with that if you like."

"Mom," Canary piped up, questioningly.

"Not personally, necessarily, but I've still got some contacts. It seems to me you need a partner with less personal history with you. I know a vigilante in Hub City who could use a fighting hand."

"Seems like you're just trying to substitute one watchdog for another."

"Oh, I think you'll find The Question less of a watchdog and more of a ghost. He's an investigator, not bad in a fight, but I think you'd complement each other well. He might even be able to help you find your father."

Helena contemplated that with interest.

"Don't encourage her," Oliver mumbled under his breath.

"He could?", she finally asked, a glimmer of hope in her voice.

"If your patience can survive his conspiracy theories and you can retain your sanity," their Black Canary muttered.

Helena regarded her coolly. "He's starting to sound interesting."

Oliver rolled his eyes. Of course Black Canary's doubt would make Helena jump on the train. Judging by the small smile Canary allowed herself as she appeared to look away with a huff, she had known it too. He looked back at Helena and wondered how she would fare and if he should let her go. Their knowledge of her secret could force her hand, but he wondered if it was worth it. They were clearly not striving as partners. And now she was another woman to know his secret as well – damn his luck for his injuries.

On the other hand, though her training had not been complete, what with the recent drop in her attendance, but she had progressed quite nicely and had expanded her already impressive skill set. It was her character that most worried him. She had said justice, even though he knew well she meant vengeance. That wasn't necessarily an issue for him, but he worried about how far she may still be willing to go to achieve her goal.

Which was why, maybe the move to Hub City would be just what Huntress needed. He watched her talk to Canary's mother, eyes narrowed in interest and a grin beginning to form on her lips. Mother Canary might be on the right track there, he concluded. Maybe it would give Helena some peace. Still, Oliver should probably check in on her even from afar every once in a while.

Probably best if he didn't see her off, though.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Queen Residence)_

When he made it home that night, hurt and exhausted, he didn't expect to be confronted with Diggle and Walter standing together in the atrium waiting for him. He wanted to groan, because he was in no fit state to discuss Walter's plans to confront his mother. But Walter only came over to him and put a hand on his shoulder, asking if he was feeling okay.

"I just need sleep, desperately," he added, touched by his stepfather's worry. "It's been a long few days."

"Yes, it has, but you've been successful," Walter told him quietly. At Oliver's obviously confused gaze, he pulled something from the table in the center of the room. Rustling alerted Oliver to the newspaper that was pressed into his hands moments later. He glanced down tiredly to read the headline.

 _Starling City hero exonerated, impostor still at large_

–

 _Black Canary Rises_

He vaguely recalled calling out to her. The press must have taken it from there. Oliver allowed himself a small smile as he read the article that only mentioned him and Huntress on the margins. It was practically like a redaction of every slanderous word they'd published until then, instead recognizing the important service Black Canary provided the city. Calling her a hero, again.

"Well, she deserves it."

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Laurel's apartment)_

Laurel herself hadn't had much time to spare a glance at the article that exonerated her, now at the extensive news feed depicting her fight with the other Canary. She'd been too busy reeling from the revelation that her mother had dropped on her.

As her mother was preparing the tings for their dinner, she had excused herself to return to the envelope laying on her coffee table. As if magically attracted to it, she pulled out its content and brushed across the surface with shaking fingers. Instead of feelings of warmth and hope, all Laurel experienced where flashes of that very night: a mask, a sneer and the gleaming of a blade in the moonlight. She shuddered, trying to put those thoughts out of heir mind before they cut of her breath.

She could feel herself begin to fall apart as fear and suspicion settled in her gut. Fighting down tears, she barely heard the phone ring.

"H-hello," she answered it shaken.

"Laurel, hey, I wanted to call to check if you're alright," Oliver's voice reached her as if from a distance.

"Uh, y-yeah, I'm okay, just..." She drew a hand over her face in frustration. "I'm having a bit of an evening on top of what happened at the cl- are you alright? Diggle and Tommy?"

"Yes, everyone's fine. I told you it would be alright." She could hear the false cheer and the exhaustion through the line and knew exactly how he felt.

"Good, good," was all she managed, for which she wanted to smack herself. Her friends deserved better than this. "Listen, I'm... just exhausted tonight, can we-"

She was interrupted by the ringing doorbell.

"Uh, sorry, there's someone at the door."

"No problem. And I hear you about the exhaustion. I'm dead on my feet too. Talk to you soon, though. I think we should... uhm..."

He left the sentence hanging in the air, but again, she knew exactly what he meant.

"Yeah, soon," she confirmed softly as she reached the door. "Goodnight, Oliver."

"Night, Laurel."

She hung up and opened the door when she saw it was her father through the spy. She was, however, surprised to find a little boy tagging along with him.

"A man killed his parents tonight. The boy saw his face, so he needs somewhere to stay. I thought... he probably wouldn't be found at yours," Quentin said by way of introduction. He opened his mouth to say more, but only a gasp came out when Laurel felt the door open wider behind her and realized her mother must have joined her to see who was there.

Brilliant.

 **End of chapter 12!**

 **A/N:** Two more Canaries; how many can Oliver take?! He never did have any luck with women in this story...


	13. Chapter 13 (Part I)

**Guardian Angels**

 **Summary:** AU/ After five years in hell, Oliver Queen has returned home with only one goal – to save his city. Unfortunately, nobody told him he'd have to wait in line.

A/N: Many thanks to Raylion for proofreading this.

 **Chapter 13: Bird in the Hand (Part I)  
**

"Dinah?" Quentin asked, gob-smacked.

There was a tense moment in which nobody moved. Laurel looked at the little boy waiting in front of her door, while his gaze shot between her mother and father. Two people she was very much trying to avoid looking at. Her parents' relationship had never recovered after the divorce. They were cordial, but distant – and that was on the few occasions throughout the years when they hadn't been able to avoid meeting. The celebration in honor of Laurel passing her bar exam came to mind. She still had a picture of the three of them standing together and smiling, though not as brightly as they would have liked to. Because they had been three, no four. Sara had already been gone by then. To break the awkward moment, Laurel stepped aside to let the boy enter. He looked around her apartment nervously and curiously at the same time. She led him to the living room and sat him down on the couch. Vaguely she was aware of her parents following them, though they remained hovering at the door to the hallway. Laurel picked up a blanket she always kept by the couch and placed it carefully around the boy as though he were cold. He wasn't, but he grabbed hold of it tightly anyway.

"I'm Laurel," she told the boy softly. "And you are?"

"Taylor," he mumbled. He didn't seem keen on conversation. Laurel cast a glance at her father who shook his head sadly. Apparently, this was the most the boy had talked since he'd picked him up.

"Nice to meet you, Taylor," Laurel said nonetheless, not allowing herself to be discouraged. "Are you hungry?"

Taylor just shrugged, which Laurel took to mean he could eat.

"We were just making some mac&cheese. Would you like some?"

He shrugged again. Laurel gently touched his shoulder to offer him some comfort without crowding him. The poor boy was clearly shell-shocked by what had happened. Something she intended to get details on right away.

"Well, then, you're in luck. I make the best macaroni & cheese in the entire world," she boasted enthusiastically.

"Yeah, that's true," her mother agreed readily. "Of course, it's also the only thing she knows how to make – despite my best efforts."

Laurel smacked her mother's arm as she passed by her to go to the kitchen. Pulling out all she needed to make their dinner, she waited for her parents to join her. They both looked contrite. No wonder; having a little boy whose parents had just been murdered in the apartment really helped putting things into perspective. By comparison, their problems seemed almost small. Laurel didn't falter in her preparations for dinner, even as she looked to her father for more context.

"What happened?"

"His parents were going to testify against Edward Rasmus. They gave their depositions today at CNRI."

Laurel started.

"How come I didn't know?"

"Well," her father offered, shifting from one foot to the other, "according to your colleagues you were a bit busy with the vigilante case."

Laurel sighed. She really needed to apologize to everyone for losing her cool like that when even her colleagues had turned on Black Canary after the impostor had left those thugs strung up. It shouldn't have gotten under her skin as much as it had. But the sudden change in mood, people's sudden lack of faith in her, had hit closer to home than she had liked. She hadn't imagined she would have such a visceral response to it, but her skin hadn't been as thick as she would have liked. As it should have been. Vigilantism wasn't a popularity contest.

"I shouldn't have let it get to me," she mused out loud.

"Oh, sweetie, it's not your fault. No matter how long you do this, you'll never know what will slip through your defenses and hit you harder than you would imagine. Some things just hit you unprepared."

Laurel offered her a tentative smile, but she was still angry at herself for letting her facade slip like that.

"Anyway, back to Taylor's case. What happened?"

"After their depositions, the family went home. Earlier tonight, someone broke into their home and killed the boy's parents. Then messed up the place, hoping the police would think it was just a robbery."

"That clearly didn't work. You weren't convinced," Dinah commented. Quentin cast her a glance, before nodding.

"I don't believe in coincidences," he stated. "So I wasn't going to take any chances with Taylor's life."

Suspicion rose in Laurel.

"Dad, don't tell me you kidnapped the boy?"

Her father hesitated, which was as much of an admission as an answer would have been.

"Oh god, dad!"

"Quentin!"

"...I took the boy away before he could be entered into the system. So no one would know where he is."

"Oh god," her mother muttered.

"Dad, if the police find him in my apartment," Laurel murmured, but knew she would have done the same thing. The boy was staying, at least for tonight. Laurel closed her eyes and took a breath to steady herself. Her hand was placed on the counter to support some of her weight. "Any idea who did it?"

"Not yet, but I'm presuming it was a professional hit. Rasmus doesn't seem like he'd hire amateurs. Unfortunately, the market for guns-for-hire is rather large, so-"

"He was a tall black man. He had no hair," the boy suddenly said from the door. He'd sneaked up on all of them and Laurel cursed herself for not paying more attention. They really shouldn't be discussing this in front of the boy. Asking him questions tonight maybe wasn't the best idea either, but at least the memory was still fresh. So she walked over to Taylor and knelt down in front of him, both hands on his shoulders. He looked up at her with a hard, angry look that she'd seen on the loved ones of so many victims and survivors. There was fear there, yes, but determination too.

"Taylor, could you try to remember? Did he give a name? Was there anything else that was remarkable about him?", Laurel questioned gently.

"Dad said he was from CNRI; that's why he let him in."

Irrational anger surged in Laurel. That bastard had used her pro bono law firm to get to their witnesses. She let out a hiss, then stopped herself, afraid she might have scared Taylor with her sudden outburst. He seemed fine though, perhaps even gratified by her rage. Laurel closed her eyes again; this was not the example she should set for the boy. He'd gone through enough.

"He wore a suit, too, like the lawyers we met at CNRI. But his eyes... I peaked out from my room... they were so cold."

The boy looked down at the ground for a moment, then walked over to the oven to look at the mac & cheese cooking inside. Laurel stood again and exchanged a glance with both her parents. Taylor couldn't go into the system until the killer was caught, but they couldn't keep him here indefinitely either. They were already assisting her father in kidnapping a minor.

"We need to catch that guy," Laurel announced.

"Rasmus will just hire another. There won't be any peace until he's in prison," her father reminded her.

"Well, then, I better get on that."

"Tomorrow," her mother told her, then she turned to Quentin. "And you need to sort this out with the police."

He sighed.

"I know... I'm not looking forward to it."

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(SCPD)_

And with good reason. Upon his return to the station, he was welcomed outside by Police Chief Nudocerto and Detective McKenna Hall, who'd recently been transferred to the vigilante unit after her effort in the case against the new drug, Vertigo. While McKenna hung back behind her boss, they both had equal looks of anger and disapproval on their faces. Quentin sighed deeply once more as he walked up to them. Nudocerto took a few breaths, each time opening his mouth as if to say something, but then closing it again angrily as if he couldn't find the words. Quentin just waited; the words would come to his superior eventually and anything he said now would only increase his anger and make things worse. Then he noticed another man hanging back a little, standing right next to the entrance. He was dressed in civilian attire, a pair of loosely fitting suit pants and a tartan shirt, and Quentin couldn't remember ever having seen him at the precinct before, so he doubted he was a cop. When he caught the other man's gaze, he looked back at him coolly, but didn't say anything or approach them.

"Are you out of your goddamn mind, Lance?!", Nudocerto finally barked at him, making Quentin refocus on him. "Taking a witness from the crime scene – a minor! What the hell were you thinking?! Do you have any idea how many laws you've just violated? Do you even care?"

"Of course I care," he countered, "just not enough to let the boy die."

He pointed at the unknown man, before he went on.

"He's from social services, right? Where would they take him? An orphanage? A foster family, where he won't be protected and his presence will put a target on the backs of more innocent kids?" Quentin remained calm throughout his statement. He knew that calm, logical assertions were the only way to get people to see the merit of his actions.

"So you took him where, exactly? Some half-abandoned safe house and left him there? You certainly didn't take any officers with you as would-be guards?", Nudocerto responded incredulously.

"He's well looked after," Quentin promised.

Nudocerto hesitated, then turned to McKenna, lowering his voice.

"You are not hearing this."

The woman looked puzzled for a second, but ultimately nodded.

"You did not take him to the vigilante, I hope," Nudocerto growled at Lance. "The people may be unable to decide whether she's a menace or a fucking hero, but she's not a trusted police resource. If anything happens to the boy in her care- "

"She doesn't have him. I wouldn't even know how to get word to her. She contacts me," Quentin lied through his teeth, but convincingly so. He was decidedly too good at this, he realized. When at McKenna's incredulous gasp, he directed an acid look at her that had her shut up immediately as she remembered her promise to the chief.

"Then where is he?"

"Somewhere the killer hopefully won't think to look," Quentin answered softly. "Just imagine if he walked through an orphanage the way he walked through the Moore's apartment... How many dead children do you want to bury?"

Nudocerto sighed, deflated if still angry. He rubbed his hands over his face tiredly.

"You have forty-eight hours. If you haven't got your man then, the kid goes into the system," the police chief announced.

"That's-", Quentin started to protest, wanting more time, but Nudocerto cut him off.

"-all you get. All I can get you. Make it count." He turned to walk over to the child services' employee and explain the situation to him, leaving Quentin alone with a still suspicious McKenna.

"So when you walked into the evidence room after I had caught this Black Canary-"

Quentin snorted.

"Caught? I remember her hitting you rather hard, Hall," he replied coldly. "Not everything is a freaking conspiracy and you were supposed to be deaf the last two minutes."

"You can't expect me to forget that I heard what I just did..."

"No, but I can expect you to pretend you didn't," Quentin told her with finality in his voice. She took the chance to jump on another subject.

"Where's the boy," she asked, then at his stern gaze added "sir" as an afterthought. The road to restore their working relationship would be long, he could tell.

"Where he's safe. With people I trust."

"And who trusts you, sir?", McKenna challenged, quietly but emphatically.

"If you'd like to go back to Vice, just say so, Hall." He had enough for one evening. "If not, make your peace with the situation as it is."

McKenna shrugged.

"I guess I'll have to. You seem to have the Chief's support."

Quentin sighed.

"Brave new world. Learn to live in it." (1) But as he left her standing there, he felt her calculating gaze on his back.

He cast a glance at where Nudocerto was arguing with the man from child services. It seemed the man was not pleased that the kid had just disappeared and promised to take it up with the attorney general. Two days had apparently been a generous estimation on his boss' part. The man's dark gaze then fell angrily on Quentin, who chose to ignore it with a shrug, but the threat hounded his steps even as he entered the precinct.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Beta Site)_

He'd dropped by the club first, of course. He and Tommy had commiserated about the fact that their supposedly hip new club had been attacked on its opening night, disrupting everyone's fun. When loud music and seductive dancing had turned to screams, they'd had more immediate concerns, but there was a real chance that they would have to close down the club for good. With people too afraid to return for a second round at Verdant, their venture might have failed before it really began. Still, handymen were at work to replace the broken skylight and fill the holes left by Killer Canary's daggers. In the meanwhile, Tommy reported having gotten a few phone calls expressing further interest in the club, which made him cautiously optimistic. They'd have to repeat opening night – this time preferably without any murderous vigilantes dropping in, thank you very much – but there might just be a chance Starling City's residents were resilient enough or defiant enough to see the attack as an opportunity for adventure. And bragging about going to party at the club in the Glades, the one with famous DJs, hot moves and knife play.

Oliver had then made his way to the beta site, since getting in and out with everyone around was always tricky. He didn't want to make the effort that day and he needed some quiet time to think anyway. So many recent events had toppled his world: the Dark Archer and his near death, Thea's crisis, Walter and Felicity finding out his secret, his mother's apparent involvement in the list and of course the mysterious woman stalking the city at night. He intended to clear his head with a painful training regiment for the day, but when he arrived at the beta site he already heard movement from within. He expected to find Helena picking up the last of her things – and he still didn't know what to think of her move to Hub City, if that was indeed where she intended to go. Yet when he rounded the corner to the main area, it was someone else who awaited him. Idly picking at the sword they had haphazardly left on one of the tables the previous night, the elder Black Canary stood on the opposite side of the room with her back to him. She was probably looking for some kind of clue as to where it was made or who the owner might be. He had frankly almost forgotten the sword in the chaos of last night, but now he was intrigued himself.

"It looks a bit like a Dao, doesn't it?", he asked carefully, thinking of the ancient Chinese swords Maseo had introduced him once.

She turned around to face him, her long coat rustling with the movement. There were lines on her face, around the mask and her mouth. How many of them were from laughter and how many were from tears he could not tell. Her shoulder-length honey blond hair was loosely tied behind her back, so as to keep it out of her eyes. She looked to be about fifty at a guess, but the mask covering the area around her eyes and part of her cheeks made it hard to tell. She wore the same uniform as the night before and now he noticed how worn the leather was. She must have used it regularly, gone into battle with it often. There were marks and abrasions all over the soft-looking leather. Unfortunately, she too didn't wear fishnets. It seemed some things were meant to be only rumors.

"The ornament at the lower end of the blade makes me think more of Arabic and Persian weaponry," she replied quietly.

She handed him the sword and, indeed, there was an intricate design near the handle that contained a few Arabic-looking characters. Oliver stepped away from her to test the balance of the weapon and was impressed with how well it fell into his hand. He gave it a few experimental strokes; he could almost imagine how it felt when it cut through a man. At the thought, the still tender burn at his side sparked with pain. He knew she saw him flinch by the way she leaned her head to the side. She didn't comment, though, and he ignored the sudden reminder of his wound. He'd had worse on the island.

"A masterful weapon, whoever created it," he finally concluded.

"The owner will want it back," she commented. "She will come for it."

Oliver put the sword back on the table, nodding. He was counting on that now. It was the only bargaining chip they had and perhaps, if the woman was so interested in retrieving this sword, they could use that to their advantage to lay a trap for her and finally get some answers.

"The Dark Archer wore a sword on his back," Oliver blurted out.

"Do you think they're working together?"

"I don't know," he replied honestly. "With her, it seemed so personal, while he... he just wanted me out of the way, I think... You really have no idea why-"

She shook her head and he trailed off.

"I can't explain what she would want with my little girl." She sounded a little helpless, surprising Oliver.

"Well, it sounded almost like she thought Black Canary was dishonoring your memory when she called her an impostor. So, instead of an enemy... what about a fan?" He looked at her expectantly.

"I've had supporters and adversaries, of course, but none I could point out as being crazed enough to put on a leather jacket and start killing people... Besides, I haven't been involved in this life for decades. Why would somebody pick a fight now?"

"And she seemed too young to have known you then," Oliver agreed. He bit his lip. This still didn't make any sense.

"Have you considered...," Black Canary started, then stopped herself. Oliver looked up, waiting for her to finish. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "That she might be a better match for you."

Oliver blinked, not understanding.

"From what I understand you made a deal with my daughter because you could not risk wasting time fighting her on your crusade – whatever it's about. With my daughter out of the way... well, the other Canary does not seem like the judgmental sort," Black Canary finished her thought. She looked at him closely then, while her words rang in his ears and echoed in his mind. He hadn't considered it, actually, but now he realized why it weighed heavily enough on the older woman to ask so directly.

She was worried that he might turn against her daughter to support the other woman. Oliver's whole face scrunched up involuntarily at the thought. While many things might be easier if 'Black Canary' were _easier_ to deal with, the thought of betraying her and leading her to her death made him sick to his stomach. She had stood by him through the Dark Archer incident and had done what she could to help him back on his feet afterward. She had helped him with Thea's drug case and had not left his drugged, useless self to the police, even though she'd had the perfect excuse. She had not yet ratted him out to anyone and he was beginning to realize that she never would; she was more than a necessary evil or even a partner in a mutually beneficial arrangement; she was his friend.

And the other woman...

"This woman is a loose cannon. She didn't just kill those crooks, she strung them up for everyone to see and blamed my friend. She attacked Helena and me and put the people at the club in danger. She's not someone I can trust...," Oliver explained, looking Black Canary straight in the eye. "Your daughter is."

The relief was clear on her face when she smiled. She gave his shoulder a soft squeeze.

"Thank you."

Unsure what to do with her sudden gratitude, Oliver shrugged half-heartedly and turned away to begin his training. He threw a few punches and kicks at the training dummy under her ever watchful gaze. Those were probably the two most awkward minutes of his life, until he heard a zipper being pulled and turned around. Black Canary was shrugging out of her leather coat. She wore a black top underneath that seemed to be made of thick, durable fabric. It was sleeveless, which allowed Oliver to see a few scars running over her shoulders and an arm. Her life of vigilantism had clearly left marks on her. She indicated the mats in the middle of the room with her hand in a wordless invitation. Oliver hesitated only a moment before he accepted the challenge by stepping in the ring. Once Black Canary joined him, the two of them circled each other carefully.

"What do I call you?", Oliver asked, out of the blue. He watched carefully if the question threw her off and offered him an opening, but the older woman remained focused.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I can't call you both Black Canary. That's bound to become confusing."

"I doubt you'll see so much of me that it'll become a problem. I don't patrol anymore," Black Canary answered with a smile, ready for his lunge.

She danced away too quickly. He followed her and tried to kick her legs out under her, but she moved forward to do a front handspring across his shoulders. She twisted in mid-air and landed to face his back. Oliver wasn't quick enough to turn around, before she had her foot in the back of his knee and pushed him to the ground. She didn't attack further, merely walked around to face him again as he jumped back to his feet. Oliver kicked at her head, forcing her to evade sideways. Putting his foot down further in front of him, he twisted to the side and threatened to smash his elbow against her face. She blocked his attack with strength that really shouldn't have surprised him in a meta-human. He cringed, half expecting her to use her sonic scream right against his ear now that they were so close, but instead she hooked her arm underneath his elbow and pulled him almost three-hundred degrees around to throw him across the mats. She smirked at him as he had to right himself once again in a very short time during their sparring match. He was still in a crouch when he eyed his bow. He'd left it lying next to the dummy and close to the mats. His quiver was still on his back. If he could just reach his bow...

"Now that's just cheating," Black Canary growled in amusement when she realized his intention.

She stepped in when he made a move toward the bow, but Oliver quickly rolled away. Coming up behind her, he grabbed her in a headlock. He noticed her turning her head in time to retain her air supply, before he felt an elbow make contact with his gut. Oliver was used to beatings, though, so he didn't let go. Her other elbow came up then, dangerously close to his face. The sudden movement in his peripheral vision made him jerk back. It unbalanced him enough for her to shake him off. She turned around with a kick aimed to catch his face, but Oliver ducked under it and rolled away. Finally reaching his bow, he pulled the arrow out his quiver and nocked it before he was fully upright again. When he turned and saw her approaching, he took quick aim and let go. At a distance of less than ten feet, Black Canary caught the arrow when the tip had just touched her top. Seconds ticked by like hours as neither moved.

"You aimed for my shoulder?", Black Canary spoke up in surprise. "How very considerate of you."

"You have good reflexes."

She grinned.

"I still train regularly and after the Dark Archer, I figured a trick like this might come in handy... Not the circumstances in which I thought I'd perform it, though," she admitted with a laugh.

"You could have just used your... uh..."

"Canary Cry," she supplied.

Oliver nodded. _Right..._

"At this distance, in such an enclosed space, it would have turned your brain to mush," she said, sobered by the thought. Oliver nodded. He thought back to when his Black Canary had said something similar to the Dark Archer, but the sonic bomb seemed far less powerful than the actual... Canary Cry, so perhaps she had been bluffing. Another thought occurred to him.

"You seemed very confident that Black Canary – your daughter – would still be able to tap into the sonic scream at some point. Canary wasn't convinced, but... there was something on your face... Like a secret you kept." He wasn't sure if he was overstepping his boundaries by mentioning it, but now the thought nagged at him.

"Do you have children?", she asked with a small, sad smile.

"No."

"Then perhaps you won't fully understand, but parents... we try to protect our children," she began softly. "Sometimes we protect them a little too well."

Oliver cocked his head to the side. So it was dangerous to get it? Life-threatening, perhaps? Curiosity piqued, but Oliver still hesitated. He'd pried enough. If she didn't offer more, he should respect that, but it did leave one question open.

"Why didn't you tell her?" It seemed obvious now that this was the secret.

"Because I'm scared. Scared she will go looking..."

And Oliver understood. This life was dangerous enough without wanting to find the _right_ kind of life-threatening danger. Now he wished he didn't know, because he wasn't sure how he would react next time she was in danger. Would he help her or wait a moment to see if that were the moment?

Maybe he would end up waiting a moment too long...

"What does she think about the other one?", he changed the subject quickly, uncomfortable. "Or about Helena relocating to Hub City?" He'd do just about anything to think of something else right then.

"She is currently worrying about other things," Black Canary told him vaguely, intriguing Oliver. What could possibly be more important than the vigilante impostor or more annoying to her daughter than Helena's imminent breaking free of their immediate supervision. And then there were Walter's news that still burned in the recesses of his mind. He needed to check out that warehouse and backup would be nice. There was so much still to do and yet other... stuff always got in the way. The older woman watched him for a while as if gaging his mood.

"It just seems out of character for her to be so... distracted," he offered, trying to sound neither disappointed nor angry with her. His attempt at diplomacy got a bell-like laugh from the other Canary. Oliver's nose twitched in irritation.

"You must realize that this life will cost you yours, one way or another, if you give yourself over to it completely instead of remembering that you're only human too."

"The mission is all that counts."

"Ah, yes, the mission and its mysterious list – did you think my daughter had forgotten Mr Diggle's slip of tongue?", she questioned softly. "And I don't believe that's all there is. Not for me. Not for my daughter. Not even for you. Otherwise you wouldn't still be Oliver Queen, too."

Oliver looked away.

"She once said the same thing... You're too alike."

"Probably," Black Canary admitted. "In regards to Helena, I'm not sure she agrees with me, though. But a woman needs her space and she can't have that here, with the two of you. One of you always seeking to control her and the other being openly hostile toward her. Can you blame her for needing to get out?"

No, Oliver supposed he couldn't. He had known that he was overly harsh with Helena. He was much more patient with Diggle, but Diggle didn't have Black Canary breathing down his neck about his character. A poor excuse, of course, shifting the blame onto her. In truth, Oliver feared her wrathful nature himself and cold, strict training was the only thing he knew worked to reshape character. It had reshaped his and Helena couldn't allow herself to let her anger get the better of her if she wanted to pursue this life, here or elsewhere. If being a dick to her kept her alive in the long run, and grounded, he would gladly take the brunt of her hatred for the world and let her redirect it at him. Though he would have preferred to do so without her knowing his secret identity...

"She needed you," Black Canary admitted as if she'd heard his thoughts. "And someday she'll even be grateful for what you've taught her, because it will save her life and that of others. But people need more than strict discipline and guidance. They need trust."

"And what if that trust is misplaced?", Oliver countered. "Your daughter certainly seems to think so."

"You still have the same leverage against her that you had before," Canary pointed out. "Besides, don't underestimate Q. He can be rather devious and ruthlessly effective when he wants to be."

Oliver grunted.

"I'll have to take your word for it."

"You do that," she replied with sass. "I'll enjoy telling you both 'I told you so', later."

 _Too alike, indeed._

His phone suddenly rang, dragging him out of his reverie. He gave Canary an apologetic look and went to answer it. At first, there was no sound except a hitched breath, then he recognized Helena's voice through the lightly crackling line.

" _Hey, Hoodie,"_ she greeted teasingly.

He guessed he deserved that.

"And here I thought you'd pack up and leave without saying goodbye," he teased back awkwardly.

" _...I did, actually,"_ Helena admitted in a rush. _"Uh, I'm in Hub City... and... um, well, Mama Canary figured I should take the high road."_

"Which, I'm guessing, you're doing only so you can rub it in," Oliver suggested, but there was no bite in his voice.

" _Something like that,"_ she confirmed. _"Listen, I-..._ _We'll talk someday. And I'll get my father someday – nothing and no one will stop me."_

Oliver scoffed, shaking his head.

" _But,"_ Helena continued, paying him no heed. _"Until then..._ _I'll make a difference, here. You should know that."_

There was a quiver in her voice that Oliver couldn't place. Maybe she was thanking him for letting go, for training her in the first place or maybe just for being rid of him altogether. In any case, she sounded calmer. Perhaps she had found peace like this after all. And in that case, they might be able to make peace sometime too. He glanced at 'Mama Canary', who was back to examining the sword.

"I know," he said, gently, trying to convey that this was what he'd hoped for her – even if he'd gone the wrong way about it. "They're lucky to have you."

There was a voice somewhere near her – deep, male; he couldn't hear what was said, but it sounded urgent – and Helena made her excuses and hung up.

" _You'll hear from me,"_ she said by way of goodbye. Not _of_ her, _from_ her – and against his intention his heart lifted a little.

She didn't sound angry or bitter, and Oliver was surprised at how easily she had taken to the change. Like a fish to water. He contemplated his phone a moment longer.

"Good for you," he murmured at it, even though she couldn't hear him. She deserved some peace. Though, given the line of work he'd introduced her to, he doubted it could last.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Queen Residence)_

"I told you," Moira said, unequivocally, "I want no part in this anymore. I will not have what happened to Thea, happen to anyone else in my family."

She sat on the couch opposite him, a glass of iced tea in her hand and refusing to look at him in favor of watching the ice cubes melt. He wanted to scream and yell and throw a fit, because this situation was unbearable, but knew raging at her would bring him no closer to his intended goal. She was scared, scared for the lives of her loved ones. He could understand that better than most, but she didn't seem to realize that it wasn't so easy to back out of their deal. This wasn't easy, for either one of them. She had approached him after the Gambit had gone down and he could not be more impressed with her courage. Especially after all the things he'd learned Malcolm Merlyn was capable of doing, though he suspected that Moira hadn't even told him everything. But this went so much beyond either one of them or his admiration for the integrity she had demonstrated when taking on the risk of this partnership.

"You don't seem to understand, Moira, this isn't as easy as saying 'I'm out'," he reminded her as gently as he could.

"Isn't it? I believe that's exactly what I just said," she replied with a dismissive wave, though he could see the strenuous tension in her. She was angry and anxious and she wanted him to accept her position and leave, desperately. "I will not risk my family on your investigation any further. For five years I have helped you and risked my life and the lives of those I loved in doing so. Now it's enough."

"That's just it, it's not."

"If you still haven't got everything you need to arrest Merlyn and the others, go get the rest yourselves. That's what we got the police for, isn't it?"

"And that's what the police needs informants for," he replied tersely.

"Then find another one," she bit out through gritted teeth.

He looked at her like she had grown a second head. She couldn't exactly blame him. Her decision had cut the police off from their only resource in stopping the Undertaking, but she'd had a lot of time to think about all that had happened while waiting to see if her daughter – Her. Daughter. – would wake up from her drug-induced coma. And she'd realized that for all she had done and given over to both causes, she had gotten very little in return. A sunken yacht and a dead husband, a threat against her second husband and a comatose daughter had cut deeply into her life. She felt like she kept chipping away pieces of herself in order to fulfill some other man's ambitions. She had been trading away her own soul to both sides for five years; she was tired of losing herself in this swamp of violence and deceit.

No more.

"No more," she murmured, more to herself than anyone else.

"It's just not that simple, Moira," he told her tiredly. She looked up at him at that, suddenly seeing the mark of the years on him as well. Weary and resigned to dredge through the same swamp that was drowning her. The lines showing on his face seemed suddenly deeper than she had ever seen them. A rush of sympathy filled her at the sight. He had been there every step of the way; no wonder he too was beyond exhausted. "You bargained your assistance in stopping this Undertaking for immunity from prosecution. If you don't deliver-"

"I've delivered for five years," she hissed, all notion of sympathy gone. "I even got a man into Merlyn Global's security for you. He must've been useful by now... I've paid my dues."

"I'm afraid the DA won't see it that way... It doesn't matter what Mr Hudson turns up – that doesn't relate to your... ugh...I know it's not fair, Moira, but it is what it is."

He got up.

"Neither one of us can just back out now. We're in too deep."

"Thea was in deeper than either of us. The Undertaking almost swallowed her. You expect me to just pretend that didn't happen?!"

"No, I expect you to keep fighting for her," he admitted. "You're stronger than this. Don't let this defeat you."

"Ass."

He raised an eyebrow. She had never cursed in all the years he'd known her.

"Get out," she added after a moment.

"I'll tell the DA you're still shell-socked from Thea's sudden development. That'll buy you a few days," he told her. "Think this through Moira. For Thea, too."

"What's for Thea?", a new voice asked. Both of them turned to Walter. He looked between the two co-conspirators.

"I was just telling Mrs Queen that Thea should come down to the station and make a statement as soon as possible, before someone decides to make an example of her to win brownie points for being tough on drugs."

Walter narrowed his eyes.

"Well, thank you for that advice, Detective Lance," Walter replied tersely. "We will take it under consideration."

Quentin tipped his head, before striding out.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(CNRI)_

When she'd first arrived, it had been with a spirit that was ready for action. She'd sat Taylor at her desk where she could keep an eye on him, asked Anastasia to do the same and then proceeded to get all the necessary documents together to try to speed up his parents' case. But without their statements there wasn't a lot to go on. Rasmus would probably walk, unless they could find a direct link between him and the hit on the Moore family. In order to do that, she'd need to find the hitman and get him to talk, something difficult to do while she was supposed to watch after the young boy. She had looked over at Taylor frequently over the course of the morning. He never moved from the position at her desk. He hadn't talked again the night before, nor today. The boy was immersed in his grief and Laurel's heart went out to him. In one night he'd lost his parents, his home and his freedom. He needed to stay with her for an indeterminate amount of time and his movements had to be strictly regulated, or else someone might find him with her.

Laurel was pouring over the documents of the case, trying to find a solution, but her eyes kept drifting to the few pictures she kept on her desk. One was of her father when he'd received his detective's badge. It was an old picture, but she kept it to remind herself of their family's drive for justice. The very drive that had made her choose to become a lawyer and a vigilante. Another showed her mother, father and her at her graduation from university. They had been so proud; she adored that picture, even though it made her look over with a pinch of guilt at the last one of her and her sister Sara only a few days before she went on her fateful journey. She picked up the framed picture, smoothing over the frame with her thumb. God, she missed Sara! With all her wildness and spontaneity, she had driven Laurel mad at times, but now she would give anything for another minute with her. Laurel noticed movement in her peripheral vision. Looking toward the shift, she saw Taylor crane his neck a little to get a good look at the photo. She handed it to him without hesitation and watched as he grasped it carefully in both hands. She tapped Sara's smiling face to direct his attention.

"That's my sister Sara. She was in an accident at sea a couple of years ago. We lost her," she explained to the boy.

He looked up from the picture.

"Then you're like me," he whispered with a choke.

Laurel gave a sad smile. She stroked along his cheek and squeezed his shoulder, trying not to think about the worry and the doubts that she had been harboring since last night. Sara's death had torn at all of them, but she'd made her peace with that. Ultimately, she'd had no choice, or else she'd have been left to rail and rave at the world and possibly sacrifice her sanity to something she couldn't change. Therefore, Laurel had squashed any minute spark of hope she'd felt at Oliver's return and had almost been relieved when he'd confirmed that no one else had survived the sinking of the Queen's Gambit. Of course, she'd since found out that he was an unreliable narrator at best...

With a sigh, Laurel got up.

"I'm going to get coffee from the kitchen. Do you want anything, Taylor?"

The boy shook his head.

"No, thank you." It was hardly eloquent, but, for Laurel, he might as well have composed a sonnet. She squeezed his shoulder once and made her way through the office. Her co-workers, thankfully, had not taken offense to her outburst, so they still greeted her with a smile when she passed. She managed to remember to return them, but her thoughts were elsewhere. Her mind couldn't decide on which problem to focus. Taylor needed her, but her mind was scattered. Between Killer Canary, her mother, Helena, her evolving relationship with Oliver and her lack of communication with the Hood, Laurel didn't know where to turn her head. Pulling a cup from the shelves, she may have put it down with a bit more force than strictly necessary and she was certainly not elegant or even patient about pouring the coffee. Dunking two spoonfuls of sugar and some cream in it, she stood inhaling it with her back to the counter. The first sip was bitterer than she had expected, making her scrunch up her face. She tried to gather her wits and think of the best thing to do to help Taylor, but her mind drifted from the mental picture of him sitting in the chair at her desk to the picture he was holding.

She got the phone out of her pocket, then hesitated. Placing that call could have far-reaching consequences, but how could she not try.

" _Consulate of the Republic of China, Starling City, how may I help you?"_

For a moment, Laurel said nothing. She thought back to the picture, back to when it had been taken all those years ago. Finally, she cleared her throat to address the issue she had called for. Her voice was hesitant, still unsure how much stock to put into a mother's hope or even her own, but she needed their help one way or another. To put this issue to rest.

Sara was on her mind more constantly now than she had been in the longest time, she realized with no small amount of guilt. After finding Oliver at her grave, she'd put the constant worry out of her mind again. Now, of course, things were so much more complicated than accepting her sister's death or being honest about her to her grieving boyfriend. The shift in her relationship with Oliver made her feel like a traitor if she thought about it too hard. Taking up with her sister's boyfriend was a bad idea if she was dead. If she were alive... A commotion startled her out of her thoughts. Laurel excused herself and hung up, promising to call back at a later time, and focused on the unexpected noise. Loud voices reached her even in the secluded space of the kitchen. One voice in particular demanded to know where she was. Laurel could also hear Anastasia trying to calm things down in her soothing tones. It seemed to have little effect. Frowning at the agitation, Laurel rounded the corner to find an infuriated McKenna Hall next to her desk, pointing at Taylor. The boy looked disturbed by all the attention and the angry voices. Laurel marched overwithout hesitation, catching the attention of both adults. Anastasia nodded at her and took a few steps back. Hall seemed more irritated than before.

"I knew it would be you," the detective hissed lowly. "He's had a police car stationed outside your home for the last few weeks, so it was the first place to look."

Laurel raised an eyebrow.

"Your father should never have removed the boy from the scene and, of course, he brought him to you! How he thinks the kid is going to be safer in a lawyer's care than in protective custody is beyond me," Hall added. "And if I can find him, the killer sure as hell can too."

Taylor cringed, then looked up at Laurel.

"It's okay, Taylor, you'll be okay."

"You can't promise that," the detective reminded her.

"No more – or less – than you, you mean," Laurel shot back. She grabbed Hall by the shoulder and led her away a few steps to avoid frightening Taylor even more.

"And how will you protect him, alone," Hall asked, quieter this time, casting a glance at the boy still looking at them.

"Who says I'm alone?", Laurel retorted. "You yourself pointed out there's a unit outside my door."

"They might not be close enough," the detective countered. "If the killer makes it into the building- I know you want to help and the Chief agreed to give it 48 hours, but you need to let the boy come with me. I can take him to a safe house."

"For which there's an address neatly filed away at the station. I have no direct connection to the boy, so as long as no idiot mentions in a report that my father took the boy away, there's no reason to come looking for him at my place."

The two women stared at each other, hard. Finally, McKenna looked away and conceded with a frustrated sigh.

"I hope you know what you're doing, because that boy's life depends on it," she told Laurel gravely.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

"Why here?", was the first thing Oliver asked when he reached her on the appointed roof. He hadn't been that surprised to get a call from Wildcat. Even with how distracted her mother had said she currently was, he had been sure that she would patrol this night and want to try and find the impostor. What had surprised him, however, was the address of their nighttime rendezvous point. Even as he approached her, his eyes drifted downward to an apartment in a nearby building. The scenery was familiar; he had been here often enough. In fact, he'd even been to the apartment before on several occasions, though he preferred not to think too much about the reasons behind each of his visits. He chuckled briefly, thinking perhaps he should just ask to move there as apparently his vigilance was needed more often there than in the rest of town. But she'd probably feel that that would be moving too fast when she wasn't even sure she wanted to move forward at all. And he was getting ahead of himself anyway. It wasn't like he intended to tell her. He looked further down to spot a new unmarked police car sitting at the opposite side of the street.

Some things didn't change.

"My contact in the police told me an entertaining story about how you took down two officers here thinking they were Vanch's men. I figured you'd find your way back here easily," Black Canary teased him softly.

Oliver snorted.

"I guess we need a new roof anyway." After they were attacked on the other one the last time because people thought she had turned into a killer overnight.

"They were angry and scared. You can't blame them," Black Canary argued, making Oliver wonder if her mother would have been so forgiving.

"You've been protecting them, serving them, for two years," he reminded her. "They turned on you a little too easily for my taste."

Black Canary gave a sad sigh.

"Someone once told me that... in this life you either die young or live long enough to watch yourself become the villain (2)...," she murmured. He had to strain to hear her; it was an odd thing to say, but it sent a shudder down his back at how hauntingly true it sounded. "I guess I just never expected it to happen so soon."

She looked back at Laurel's apartment herself now and Oliver wondered if she hadn't chosen this spot because her contact had also told her of Laurel's intention to defend her. As they both glanced at the apartment, the woman's figure appeared in a window. Oliver couldn't see her clearly across the distance with the light coming from behind her, but she seemed to have spotted them. He saw Canary push off in the other direction a moment later and then they were moving. He automatically took the path toward the club to see if they could find anything in its surroundings that might lead them to the impostor, but he soon realized that she was headed in a completely different direction. Curious to see if she had discovered anything, he followed her quietly. Their bikes would have been faster, but they would have also announced them rather loudly, he realized, when he saw that she had taken him to a completely different place. The building was guarded by a police officer, which was unusual enough, but he and Black Canary slipped in from the side through a window that was strangely open even though the lights were out in the apartment. As quietly as possible they jumped across from the fire escape on the adjacent building. Once inside, even in the darkness, Oliver realized that this must be what the officer was guarding. The apartment was everything but neat. Vases and pictures had been smashed to the ground, tables overturned and blood marred the cream carpet they were standing on. If he squinted, Oliver could even make out the pale tape the police had used to draw the shape of a human body on the ground, marking the spot where they'd found it.

"What happened here?", he asked, expectantly.

"The Moores were supposed to give testimony against Rasmus later this week. Someone killed them last night and created this chaos in order to make it look like a robbery," Canary explained. "I wanted to look around and see if I can find any clue as to what the killer might do next or even who he is."

"If Rasmus is involved, he's probably a hired gun and there won't be much to find," Oliver told her without pity. "Why are you so interested in this?"

She gave him a look that was clear even though he couldn't make it out.

"I mean, why now? Isn't the impostor a bigger threat?"

"Because their young son Taylor Moore survived. He saw the killer's face-"

"So now he's a target..."

She nodded.

"The killer came through the door. He pretended to be a lawyer," she began to reconstruct the scene. "Mr Moore opened the door, thinking there were more papers to sign or depositions to go over."

"And was shot," Oliver pointed at the figure marked on the floor and the blood stain. "Next Mrs Moore came out to check on the noise. When she saw her husband and realized what had happened, she tried to run."

He pointed at the other figure and the second blood stain, then further to the door of what must have been Taylor's room. It had been pushed open forcibly, as there were splinters from where bullets had torn through the wood. The boy must have tried to lock the killer out. He and Canary moved to the entrance and looked inside. The only other way out was the window and Canary confirmed that this was how Taylor had escaped according to her source. Oliver swallowed thickly. He wasn't sure how he would feel if there had been a third figure marked on the ground and another stain of blood.

"He'll be in a safe house, why aren't we there? Or is your mother..."

"No, a detective took the boy away before he could be entered into the system. Chief Nudocerdo and Mr Child Services from the other day are besides themselves with anger, but the boy is safer if no one knows where he is," Black Canary said with determination, which immediately begged the question...

"Where is he?

"The detective told Nudocerdo that he took Taylor to his daughter, your pretty lawyer friend." Laurel bit her lip; she was saying too much, but by now part of her wanted him to figure it out before she had to scrap together the gall to say it to his face.

Quentin Lance, Oliver concluded. And if only he and Nudocerdo knew where the boy was, it meant that either he or the Chief were her source. Considering the detective's open distaste for vigilantism, Nudocerdo was the better bet. He eyed Canary suspiciously. How had she gotten such a stick-in-the-mud as Nudocerdo, who had rather convincingly offered his own hatred to the amassed rich and powerful at the Queens' dinner party, to support her and feed her information? It was certainly quite a catch; the chief of police had much influence and access to any and all investigations in the city. And even though Lance had only really spoken ill of him as a vigilante, he couldn't imagine him stealing information and copying files and plan clandestine meetings. So it had to be Nudocerdo, didn't it?!

"So, Laurel has the boy?", he finally asked, his mind catching up with what that meant. "One of us should be there."

"One of us is," she muttered under her breath, sure that he wouldn't hear.

They had reached the entrance again, back to the first blood stain marring the floor.

"The boy is as safe as he can be, right now, but if we don't find this killer and get him to speak out against Rasmus-"

"He could have found out where the boy is by now."

"How?"

"If you have an in with the SCPD, why wouldn't Rasmus? Even if he doesn't, if he had the money to hire an assassin, he'd have the money to buy information."

"Only Nudocerdo and the detective know where the boy is-" Laurel stopped herself, because she knew that wasn't true. And her father had told her how the chief had waited in front of the precinct for him with a man from child services, so there was a chance another cop might have put two and two together even if Hall had kept her mouth shut. She should have thought of that before, of course, but she still had complete confidence in her mother's ability to keep Taylor safe. Even if his proximity deterred her from using the full range of her skills for his safety. Not that she could tell Oliver that.

"We can't use the boy as bait," she said instead.

"No, but he's already a target. Someone should have an eye on them- on him, on the boy," he slipped. This was why Laurel was dangerous for him; he needed to focus.

Laurel smiled softly.

"It's okay to be worried about your friends," she told him, touched.

"Not when it distracts me from my purpose," he grunted.

"This is distracting you from your purpose, though, isn't it?"

He looked away.

"This is part of the job... and..." A sigh. "Rasmus is on the list."

She tilted her head to the side.

"Some day you'll tell me about that list," she announced after a moment, in which he was itching to move because they were wasting precious time.

"Someday you'll tell me your name," he countered, expecting a derisive snort, instead he got only soft silence. Gloved hands reached out to envelop him in a tight hug, unexpectedly. Her head came to rest under his chin, the hairs of her wig and the soft scent of jasmine tickling his nose. The sudden affection left Oliver at a loss as to how to respond. Though he still worried for the boy and Laurel, some of the urgency and restless energy left him at Canary's trusting embrace. Finally, he pulled her into him and pressed her closer to his frame. There was a strange comfort in having a stranger's kindness envelop him so.

"Soon," she promised with a nervous gulp. Her head moved until her forehead rested against his chest in exasperation. "I want to- but I... I don't..."

"You don't know how to not keep secrets anymore," he finished for her. Oh, he knew that feeling well. He had it every time he talked to his family. It was why he feared to fail as Thea's brother, again. He wasn't fit to be a brother or son or step-son so long as he played pretend with his loved ones. "Yeah, I know the feeling. I would do the same thing. Tell me in your own time... But for now, we have to go."

She stepped back and nodded. Before he could leap back out the open window, though, she grabbed his arm and pulled him back. Oliver waited for another outburst of unexpected emotion, but instead she merely pulled at his hand and dropped four small cone-shaped objects into it. He realized immediately that they were a pair of the commlinks slash high-tech earplugs that she and Wildcat used on the job.

"You've more than earned your own pair," she muttered. "And one for Mr Diggle. We had them adjusted so they work on the same frequency you use."

He nodded, exchanging his own for a pair. He had a feeling he might be needing them later this night.

"Wait, why do you use them? Shouldn't your ears just... uh, heal?"

Canary smiled self-deprecatingly.

"They do, but getting your eardrums ripped and bleeding from the ears every single time is not a pleasant experience."

"Not to mention all the DNA you'd be leaving around for the police or your enemies to find," he agreed, finally making the cross to the other building. He could hear her communications in the comms now, so he didn't need to be right next to her. It would certainly be helpful if they ever needed help, but where out of shouting distance. If they patrolled separately, for example.

"There is that, too."

"Does your mother-"

"Ask her out and ask her yourself," Canary interrupted him.

"Jealous?"

She didn't dignify that with an answer.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Laurel's apartment)_

Dinah remained worried throughout the evening. Of course she did. Just because she had prepared her daughter to the best of her – and several of her friends' – abilities and had absolute faith in Laurel's skills and strategic mind, didn't diminish the fact that she was her mother. And mother's worried. Her eyes drifted toTaylor and it made her worry even more. There was no safety for him as long as Rasmus was out and about and the 48 hours Chief Nudocerdo had given them were hardly enough to even find his parents' killer, much less bring his client to justice. The boy was as quiet as he'd been all day, though he had given her a little smile when she'd pulled out Laurel's heat-resistant pancake forms. He'd picked a football-shaped form, as was to be expected, and had had some fun drowning his pancake footballs in maple syrup, cream and butter. Dinah was sure he was going to have a cavity come morning, but it was a small price to pay for a little relief for the sweet boy. He hadn't really spoken then either, except to thank her for the food, but he'd helped her clean up after dinner and hadn't complained about the fruit salad she'd made rather than pulling out the rocky road ice cream she knew her daughter must have stashed somewhere in the freezer.

Now, because she didn't know how to animate Taylor to anything more and didn't just want to park him in front of the TV like a bad parent, she was teaching him Doppelkopf, a German card game she had picked up while lecturing for a semester in Berlin. Technically, they needed two more people for this game, but they made up for the missing players admirably. She watched his concentrated face with curiosity. For all his lack of engagement so far, he picked up the rules rather quickly and was playing his two hands very nicely. Taylor, it seemed, had quite the mind for strategy. Perhaps she should try playing chess with him, next. Dinah shook her head, chastising herself. She was evaluating the boy the way she had assessed Laurel and Sara when they had been his age. She narrowed her eyes, wondering, not for the first time, if she hadn't pushed Laurel into this life. It was one of the reasons she and Quentin had separated, with him feeling that she was expecting too much of their daughters. Expecting them to live her life rather than choose their own. She hadn't seen it that way at the time and there had been awful fights between her and Quentin about it, but now she couldn't help but add his concern to the list of things she worried about. Laurel seemed happy enough, convinced enough of her path, but how much of that was Dinah's expectation and training – she didn't want to say conditioning, but it may very well be applicable – and how much was Laurel's own thirst for justice?

Had she been a bad mother? She had just wanted her babies to be able to protect themselves...

"I miss my mom and dad," Taylor suddenly said.

Dinah looked at him for a long moment.

"I know... they're not... And you're all so nice, but...", he elaborated at the continued silence. Dinah cursed herself because she didn't know what to say. She didn't know how Quentin and the other police officers and the social workers did it. She didn't even properly remember what she'd been told when Sara... She had been hazy with grief, not really listening to a word that was said to her for weeks. She put her cards down carelessly and hastened around the table to draw Taylor into a hug.

"I know, sweetheart. I know you miss them. I wish I... I don't know what to say," she admitted, biting her lips. Then she thought back on why she had given up her mantle. Trying for a child was a part of it, but it wasn't the only reason. There had been so many near-misses, but more importantly so many funerals. Friends and enemies she had buried whose lives and deaths haunted her, for her inability to prevent them. By the time she and Quentin had considered having children, she had just been so fed up with grieving for her loved ones, for the innocent and even for her foes. "I know how hard it is to lose someone. Sometimes the thought of them being gone robs you of your breath."

She felt Taylor's arms encircle her as he clung to her.

"Will it get better?" he asked in a small voice.

"I- I don't know, but it does get a little easier. With time." She kissed the top of his head. "What helps me is to remember them. Even if it hurts. Because if we honor their memory it's like a part of them is still here with us, so we don't have to be alone."

Taylor sniffed. "I will always remember them," he promised in a small voice.

Dinah rubbed soothingly across his back. She wanted to tell him not to forget to live, but a knock distracted her.

"I'll check to see who that is, yeah?" she asked softly, looking down into his face.

"Yeah."

"Be right back," she promised with a kiss to his forehead. She saw him shadow her a bit as she went to the door, curious to see who it was.

"Who's there?" she called before she'd fully reached it.

"Lieutenant Sean Miller, ma'am. Your father sent me to check on you and the boy."

Dinah looks back at Taylor when he gasped. His trembling confirmed her suspicions. Quentin would have never told anyone else where he'd taken the boy, not even to have someone check on them as it were. He'd have made up something to post the unmarked car in front of the house, so she signaled to Taylor to go and hide. It took him barely a moment before he ran for it. Meanwhile, Dinah placed herself behind the door as she turned the keys to open it. As expected a gun with a silencer was the first thing that came through the crack. The assassin tried to widen the breach, but Dinah was ready. She smashed the door close, taking some pleasure in the cry of pain that she got from him when it hit squashed his hand against the frame. When the gun was trapped between the door and the frame, she stepped forward. Loosening her grip only minimally, she gave herself room to grab the gun and twist until the assassin's trigger finger was ready to break. Not having expected such effective counter measures, he hesitated long enough for her to kick him away, breaking the finger fully and relieving him of his gun. She had just enough time to remove the magazine and the additional bullet and throw them in opposite directions before she had to jump hastily out of the way of a knife heading her way.

The killer stormed into the room, ducking under her house shoe as she kicked it toward his face. The knife switched position in his hand for a downward strike, which Dinah blocked easily and with more strength than he clearly expected. She may not have been active anymore, but she was hardly a damsel in distress. She scraped her foot and remaining shoe forcefully against her assailant's shin. He grabbed her hair to pull her away and Dinah had to grit her teeth at the pain, blinking away the tears forming in her eyes. She swiftly struck backward with her head against his nose, then struck out with her elbow, making him loose his balance. Stepping underneath his arm, she managed to twist it behind his back. Before she could carefully place a strike that would make him drop the knife, however, his hand came up to blindly try to press against her eye with his thumb. Dinah managed to get away quickly enough, but the pressure still hurt and he was on her again in a heartbeat. She stumbled backward until she hit a dresser. There was a clattering noise when a vase toppled, flowers and water falling out. Without thinking about it, she grabbed hold of the vase and threw it the killer's head. He avoided it, but she was right there to drop-kick him so hard he smashed into the glass cover of the decorative dresser next to the door. She saw blood drip to the floor and knew he had injured himself, but now she had a floor covered in glass and no shoes...

 _Brilliant_ , she thought.

"How did you find Taylor?" she asked to distract him from his immediate advantage.

He must have come to the same conclusion, because he smirked triumphantly at her grimace. He grasped a shard and threw it in her direction, no doubt expecting her to duck and give him time to throw the knife after it. When she saw him move to do just that, Dinah grit her teeth and let the shard hit her, only moving enough so it would catch her in the shoulder rather than the spot where her throat met her chest. She winced, but didn't dare close her eyes. She caught the knife when it came flying toward her instead and threw it back catching him in the arm. Then she moved backward into the kitchen, hoping that Taylor had found a different spot to hide. The assassin followed her, ducking under her swing with the freshly cleaned pan and tackling her to the ground. She hit the tiles with a painful exhale, even as her hand came up to break his nose, then moved to press into his eye as he had done to her. He rolled away in pain, but got up just as quickly as her. And, Dinah noticed, he was on the side with the knives. Cursing, she blocked the first strike with the pan, but the second knife slashed her across the arm. Then he used his injured hand to strike at her again. She shoved the pan forward into it, forcing him to drop the knife, and grabbed the other arm as it came down on her. Twisting around, she slammed him into the far wall with enough force to dent it. The second knife clattered onto the floor. Dinah aimed her punch at his face, but when he ducked under it and it went into the wall, she swung around to hit him with the pan instead.

"Who betrayed the boy?" she demanded from him.

He scrambled away into the living room and something in the atmosphere changed. Had it been charged before, now it was chilly. With a sudden clarity they both realized that Taylor was in the room with them. Dinah bit her lip to prevent herself from cursing or calling out to the boy. She couldn't see him and, judging by the frantic looks around the room, neither could his intended killer. She breathed a sigh of relief for small favors. Dinah took a deep breath. She'd prefer not to have to resort to her Canary Cry, but she would rather expose herself to Taylor than to risk his safety.

"Tell me how you got to him or I'll run your brain through the grinder," she threatened darkly.

The killer snorted derisively.

"It wasn't difficult," he taunted her, while he kept looking for Taylor. "Your detective thinks he was clever, but once I knew who had taken the brat, I knew he'd take him to someone unaffiliated with the police. Someone he trusted. I had expected his hapless daughter to be alone, but no matter. Where is she? And where is the brat?!"

So he thought Laurel was hiding Taylor. Well, good to know.

"Not here. Can I help?," she told him with lethal calm. Twisting around her back, she let him expect a kick across his face. When instead she threw the pan at his guts, he wasn't ready to jump out of the way, giving her time to kick upward with her knee, slamming it into his face. He toppled over the couch, overturning it as he fell. Taylor became visible underneath, but the killer probably hadn't seen him yet. In order to keep his attention on her, she stepped over the overturned couch to hit him again, but this time she'd made a strategic error. The guy had smashed into a number of cabinet files, from which Laurel's gun fell along with several pieces of work she had taken home with her. Dinah cursed when he grabbed for the gun; she had no chance of reaching it first, but perhaps she could kick it out of his hand before he could shoot her with it, then go after Taylor. Before she could move, a window above them broke. A cable shot across the room above their heads and a small metal ball fell to the ground between them. As the killer hesitated at the unexpected sight, Dinah, recognizing the sonic bomb immediately, rushed to jump over the couch again and cover Taylor's ears with both their hands. The killer must have realized that something was up, because she managed to hear hasty footsteps retreating toward the next room just before the screeching noise made her go temporarily deaf. The couch was thrust over them as she flattened herself against Taylor to cover him. She kept her eyes over, watching two pair of feet hit the ground just as the noise subsided. Laurel rushed to her and Taylor's side to check on them. Dinah nodded at her quietly, even though she could feel the wetness at her ears that indicated she was bleeding. She saw her daughter's face contort angrily as she took her in, with all the other scrapes and knife wounds. Dinah's gaze fell back to the cabinet file and she realized with horror that the killer had taken the-

"Gun," she croaked over the ringing in her head.

As if on cue, he limped back into the room, gun stretched forward. It was a matter of seconds, however, before two arrows impacted in his chest and a baton flew against his hand even as he fell backward from the Hood's lethal force.

"Laurel, are you and the boy alright?" the Hood asked. Dinah suddenly realized that Laurel was covering her face from Oliver's sight.

"She's fine, just dizzy from the sonic bomb."

Oliver got ready to cross over to them, but there was more commotion as someone else entered the apartment. Warnings and orders were shouted across the room as the police stormed the place.

"The cops will call the paramedics; we need to go," Black Canary announced, even as the police entered the room and the Hood nocked another arrow in their direction. She saw him grit his teeth and glance again at the woman he thought was her.

"Now," she said, barreling into him while the police was still busy taking everything in and catapulting them both out the same roof they'd come through. Oliver quickly used another cable arrow to stabilize himself, then he reached out to Canary out of habit and, perhaps also out of habit, she took his proffered hand, even though their break-in at Starling General had proven that she could survive jumps of a similar height. Two shots followed them to the ground, making them slink off sideways into a nearby alley to catch their breath.

"We should have stayed and checked on them."

"And gotten arrested, yes, good plan."

"They were injured. The sonic bomb-"

"Won't have permanent effects."

"Laurel-"

"That wasn't Laurel," Canary admitted if only to get him to move, because they were still too close.

"What?!"

"It wasn't her," she repeated. "I didn't have time to explain with the cops and everything, but it wasn't her. This woman was older."

"Why? Where was- ugh," Oliver grunted in frustration. This was too fucking impossible to deal with. Too many people pulling him in too many directions all at once.

"I'm sure she's okay," Canary offered half-heartedly, trying to comfort him. "She probably just stayed at CNRI late to help put Rasmus away for good."

Frustrated silence. Then...

"I'll stay here until she gets back."

"Oliver," she murmured. It was the first time she'd used his first name since she found out. Or was it? He couldn't remember. Faces and conversations bled together when he looked at her and it was like he was talking to two different people, even though he still had no idea who the other one was. In her own time, he'd foolishly told her, but now he wished he could press her for answers.

"I'll stay," he insisted.

"Alright, what do you want me to do?" she asked. At his surprised glance, she elaborated. "There must be something I can do to help you – other than stay here and play cop bait."

He took the warning with a nod. It was a risky plan.

"You need to talk to your contact about getting Taylor out of here. Rasmus will have someone else try again. He won't be done until he's in jail or the boy is dead," Oliver mused aloud. Taylor needed more than a place to hide, he needed protection. "Tell him to send Taylor to my place."

"Your place?" she asked, nonplussed.

"My family has more protection than the president. The house is out of the way, too, so no innocent bystanders-"

"Except your family. And your staff."

"I'll give the staff a few days off. Thea is still in the hospital, mom has taken to spending the night in the rooms used for those on standby to avoid Walter and Walter... I can handle Walter." He wasn't willing to mention that Walter would take his advice because he knew... almost everything. Perhaps he still couldn't help but keeps secrets, too. They needed to do something about that soon. This was getting ridiculous with how closely they worked together. "Just get them to go along with that... And find out who that woman was.

 **End of chapter 13!**

A/N: I received a few requests to shorten the chapters, so I tried to find a good place to split the story. I hope this makes it easier. Happy Holidays everyone!

(1) The quote is originally from JLU.

(2) Paraphrase of a quote by Harvey Dent in The Dark Knight


	14. Chapter 13 (Part II)

**Guardian Angels**

 **Summary:** AU/ After five years in hell, Oliver Queen has returned home with only one goal – to save his city. Unfortunately, nobody told him he'd have to wait in line.

 **hotkillerz:** Actually, Oliver never met Dinah before and he only saw her from behind and in a tense situation. If you want to know how he reacts to meeting Dinah, read on... Enjoy!

 **Chapter 13: Bird in the Hand (Part II)**

 _(Queen Consolidated)_

Oliver found them exactly where he'd asked them to be. He'd sent Diggle ahead to make contact while he was giving all of the staff at the family residence the rest of the week off as paid leave and explained the situation to the security detail at the house. He made sure that they knew they weren't obligated to stay and look after Taylor Moore, with the threat being so very real, but so far not one of them had left. Oliver had been relieved to know their loyalty and integrity extended beyond what they were paid to do. Raisa had also decided to stay, despite his many protests. She had been the only one still there when he had talked to his family's bodyguards as she was the one he'd asked to make a room ready for Taylor and Laurel and potentially the unknown woman who was at her apartment the night before. Older, Canary had said, and it nagged at him, like pieces falling into place where he didn't want them to fit. She had overheard part of his conversation with the guards and had insisted someone, who knew how to feed the poor kid, needed to stay as well. Even after threatening to fire her, she had only patted his cheek indulgently. He had sighed when it became clear that there was no reasoning with her and had given up.

"Walter, I need you to work late for a few nights – like sleep-on-the-couch-in-your-office late," he announced without preamble a little later, when he, Diggle Walter and Felicity were alone.

Walter and Felicity's identically raised eyebrows looked back at him.

"Why?"

"There might be a situation at the house in the next few days," Diggle tried to explain diplomatically.

"We're taking in a boy who Edward Rasmus wants dead. He needs to be in a safe place while I have a chat with Rasmus."

"A chat?" Felicity piped up, nervous. "An at-the-point-of-an-arrow chat?... You know, just asking, for... uh, clarification. Not that I object to... anyone hunting little boys getting... poked a little- with an arrow. Just..."

"I just want him to back off. I've built my reputation on being ruthless on purpose since I came back. That reputation means that most of the time I don't even have to shoot."

"And if he doesn't back off?" Walter questioned thickly.

"That's what we need Felicity for," Diggle chimed in, before Oliver could say something that would blow up this entire conversation. The woman in question looked at him a little wide-eyed and pointed a pen she was holding at herself in slight disbelief. "We need you to hack Rasmus' accounts to find a connection to the man he hired to kill the Moores and the one he will hire to finish the job with the boy."

"Finish the job? What happened to the first killer?"

Diggle glanced meaningfully at Oliver.

"It was him or the boy. I did what I had to," he told them unapologetically.

Felicity nodded, then looked to Walter. He exchanged a glance with her, before looking at Oliver's severe face again. When he was satisfied with whatever he had searched for, he nodded at Felicity.

"Alright, I'll see what I can do," Felicity finally agreed. "But then we need to address this issue with... well, with Mrs Queen."

The reminder stung all of them.

"When the boy is safe," Oliver agreed, looking at Walter for approval. His stepfather nodded.

"When the boy is safe," he confirmed.

Oliver nodded at him, then turned around to leave when Diggle's sudden movement caught his attention. His friend shifted unexpectedly, jerking forward to move around the table. The hastiness with which he did so had him crashing painfully into a corner, but Diggle didn't even wince at the sharp jab of pain. Nor did he look down as he navigated around the intrusive object. Instead his gaze was fixated on a muted screen that flickered with a recent newsreel. Oliver saw Felicity and Walter exchange a surprised glance, but he paid them no mind. Slowly, he followed John's movement until he stood beside him. He looked from John to the screen and back again when he realized why his friend was in such a state. Oliver's blood ran cold at discovering the truth. The newsreel covered the assassination of the US ambassador to Germany and several other at a local charity event in Berlin. The ambassador and the other victims had apparently been shot by a sniper and even though some had only received minor injuries from the shooting itself, they had subsequently died of Curare poisoning.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Starling General)_

Moira waited in the chapel, an unusual place for their meeting but it was secluded and quiet. When he entered, the lights were dimmed and she was the only one in the room save for a statue of Mary, Mother of God, if that counted. He took a moment to just look at her, her shoulders drawn and her hands clasped together. She looked tired and resigned, yet still a long way from defeated and her head was held high. She looked straight ahead, her gaze boring into the cross on the wall behind the altar. He wondered if she was questioning God or quietly cursing him. He had never known Moira to be a particularly religious woman, but the tragedy of losing a husband, possibly two if he'd heard right, and almost her son and daughter as well may turn anyone to seek help from a higher power.

Or burn with rage at them..

Frank walked up to her and slid into the pew next to her. They sat together in silence for a while. So long, in fact that he wondered why she had asked him to come see her. And Thea, or so she had said. It wasn't until he'd asked about the Queens' room at the reception that he'd been pointed to the chapel. Apparently, Moira had asked them to direct him there to avoid the potential for detection of a text message or a call. A fact that made Frank even more nervous about coming here, his stomach dropping even as he had nodded at the friendly nurse. Briefly, he had contemplated to turn around and avoid the conversation altogether, but Moira, Robert and he had been friends for so long that he had ultimately given himself a mental shove to go and meet her. He took a deep breath, preparing to ask her about her intentions when she began to speak.

"It's been ages since I've set foot in a house of God; not since Robert's funeral and wake," she announced quietly.

Frank was a little taken aback. He wasn't prepared for this conversation and didn't know how to respond. Nor did he have to as it turned out, because Moira was not yet done. From one moment to the next, she turned around to him, her face the mask of an angry, swirling storm. Frank swallowed uncomfortably; she looked deadly and suddenly the reminder of Robert's funeral was not merely sad but threatening.

"The next one I intend to go to is Malcolm Merlyn's."

He almost choked on his own breath.

"Malcolm...? Moira, what are you saying?" Frank asked, panicked. He looked around hastily, half-expecting Malcolm or his associate to creep out of a shadow along the wall.

"He sabotaged my husband's yacht, killing Robert and almost Oliver too. He threatened to have Walter murdered and he poisoned Thea. She almost died and still doesn't remember her brother coming back to us. When does it stop, Frank?!" Moira questioned, half angry and half desperate. "We have both given so much to the Undertaking under threats to our families' lives. We have sacrificed so much already and it's never enough for him! He is obsessed, possessed by this madness that threatens to drag all of us and half the city down into an abyss."

Frank shifted uncomfortably. He could hardly deny that Malcolm put his goal before everything else, nor the insanity of it. Everything Malcolm did, he did for a wife who would curse his name for his callous disregard for human life. Her death had changed him, from a kind, loving man to a man possessed by the single purpose of absolute destruction. But he did have family, he did have his daughter to think of and, for her sake, to even consider what Moira was suggesting was like a death sentence. Frank could see how shaken Moira was by recent event. She had sacrificed more than perhaps any of them, it was only natural to falter after so many tragedies, but to involve himself in this... If Malcolm ever got wind of their disloyalty, all of hell would rain down on them like acid.

"You've been through much, no one denies that. But Thea just woke up and she's alright. She'll be beside herself to have Oliver back. She'll live and be happy and... there's no need for such drastic measures."

"There is every need," Moira replied firmly. "How long do you think we can continue this? Advance the Undertaking that will destroy so many to protect so few, no matter how dear to us. How will we look at ourselves when it's done? How will we face them? Think of your little girl; what will she think of her father, I wonder."

Frank looked away, ashamed.

"When will it all end, Frank? When we're completely spent, have nothing more to give because we've chopped away at our very souls?..." She paused for a moment, waiting for him to look at her. "You still have connections with the Triads; help me. Before it's too late for us or our families."

He breathed out very carefully while he looked at her. There was a pull in her words that he could not deny. The Undertaking would die with Malcolm Merlyn. If even his most loyal collaborator was wavering, contemplating to surgically remove this cancer that Malcolm always talked about and that was, in all reality, Malcolm himself, then the others would hardly have the will or desire to continue once their leader was gone. And for the first time in a long time Frank breathed in air and hope.

"Alright, I'll speak with my contacts."

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Verdant)_

The club was deserted. The repair work had been mostly finished; it was just a broken skylight and a couple of dents after all, but they had yet to reopen since the memory of the attack was still so fresh in everyone's mind. He and Tommy had agreed that it was best to let a couple of weeks pass and give people a chance to calm down, before trying to lure them back into Verdant. Tommy wasn't here either, thankfully, given how sullen or angry Diggle looked – Oliver couldn't quite decide which. Or perhaps John himself didn't know which feeling to latch onto. The moment they'd left Felicity's office, he'd pulled out his cell phone and called a number Oliver hadn't recognized. It must have been important, though, given that it had already been programmed into Diggle's phone. He'd thought John would call Carly, but the crisp tone and military demeanor of his friend suggested otherwise. Whoever he had called, he had invited them to meet him at Verdant, something Oliver eyed with suspicion. Yet his friend was obviously in distress and if they were careful, everything would seem in order. So Oliver busied himself with pretending to take inventory of the bottles at the bar when he heard footsteps coming from the entrance.

He chanced a glance to see a petite dark-haired woman in a pantsuit. Her face looked grim, but her eyes rested on Diggle with a certain softness Oliver recognized as deep affection. An ex-girlfriend, perhaps. Oliver pulled a bottle of bourbon from one of the shelves on the wall and filled two glasses for the estranged couple. Diggle cast him a grateful, but also suspicious glance, before concentrating on the approaching woman. When she was within ten feet, he stood to greet her. The moment turned awkward when neither of them seemed to know how best to go about it. Clearly a handshake was too impersonal, but a hug apparently too uncomfortable. In the end, hands settled on shoulder and unsure smiles were exchanged. Oliver watched the whole thing with part amusement and part curiosity, realizing this woman wasn't just any old girlfriend to John and wondering why he had never heard of her. He cleared his throat to, mercifully, put them out of their misery and watched them jump at a chance to change the topic. Both sets of eyes suddenly firmly glued to him, made Oliver suppress and insensitive chuckle.

"Right," Diggle started, "Lyla, this is Oliver Queen, my client. Oliver, Lyla is... my ex-wife."

That made Oliver look at him in surprise.

"Did you tell me you were married?" Oliver wondered aloud, not recalling such a conversation.

"We got divorced before I even came back to Starling City," Diggle said by way of explanation. If his tone was anything to go by, that would be the end of the conversation, so Oliver merely nodded and shook hands with the smaller woman. She had a surprisingly firm handshake and callouses he hadn't quite expected.

"Lyla works for A.R.G.U.S.," Diggle explained without being prompted.

Oliver's eyes darkened, but he caught himself after merely a split second. He knew that name, though it wouldn't do for Lyla to find that out.

"A.R.G.U.S.?", he asked instead. "Sounds like a rock band."

"It's a national security service," Lyla answered with a small laugh. Oliver wanted to snort at the patriotism that he thought he saw in her eyes, wanted to question her about the rumors of Waller's experimentation, wanted to throw his own exploitation at the hands of that woman at her feet, but he only smiled softly. It didn't reach his eyes.

"Well, I'll let you two talk. Something's got Diggle in a terrible mood; perhaps you can help," he announced and left in the direction of his upstairs office, though not before placing a small bug under the bar. He took the bourbon and an extra glass with him as he made his way upstairs to pretend to be engrossed in paper work. In reality, he pulled out a small wireless commlink and listened to his friend and Lyla talk about the news Diggle had just found out.

"He seems nice," was the first thing Oliver heard Lyla say. "Nicer than I expected from a trust fund brat."

"There is a lot about Oliver that surprises people," Diggle said noncommittally.

"I bet," she muttered in reply. Oliver couldn't tell if it was honest or sarcastic, not that he particularly cared. "So, what's this mystery meeting about. I haven't heard from you since... well, since the divorce, really."

"Floyd Lawton," Diggle told her and even over the radio the silence that followed was charged.

"The man who killed Andy... What about him?" Lyla's tone was grave, but cautious.

"He got an arrow in the cybernetic eye from the local vigilante a few months ago, but, somehow, he is still alive."

"He just killed our ambassador, I know."

"So, you're on his case?"

"No, I follow the news." There was a stubborn edge to her voice that made Oliver recognize the lie. Diggle must have realized it too, because what followed was a disbelieving snort.

"Don't lie to me, Lyla. ARGUS deals with people like Lawton. People too dangerous for regular cops to handle. I want to know what you've got on him."

She huffed.

"So you can try to take him down on your own and get killed. Not happening, John."

"Lyla, he killed Andy! He killed my little brother."

There was a commotion that made Oliver look up from the documents he wasn't seeing anyway. Diggle and Lyla must have sat down while he'd been on his way to his office, because now Diggle was standing over a seated Lyla and a bar stool had been thrown over, causing the crashing sound that had startled him. Diggle looked surprisingly angry – well, perhaps not surprisingly, but he'd slammed his hand on the bar and gripped his ex-wife's arm. Oliver couldn't see her face, but her body was tense, ready for a fight. In the end, though, she remained calm, taking a small sip of her bourbon until Diggle realized what he was doing and let her go. He brushed over her arm and collar, mumbling soft apologies and Oliver could see Lyla's body relax slightly. She stood with him, a calming hand softly laid against his chest.

"Tell you what; if I hear any news about Floyd Lawton's capture through the grapevine, I'll call you," she suggested as a peace offering. Oliver raised an eyebrow; he hadn't expected her to be willing to cooperate even that little bit after Diggle's outburst. "Do you still have the same number?"

"No, it's changed since... then. Here, let me," he asked and waited for her to give him her phone. Oliver knew this was the moment. Diggle would either plant a bug or clone her phone or both. He'd picked up the device from the cave before coming up here to the bar to wait for his ex. Or his contact, as he'd called Lyla then. He wondered if the ARGUS agent would actually fall for this tactic. There was a good chance she'd check her clothes and phone for bugs once she was out of there, but a cloned phone was much harder to recognize and might give them enough of an advantage to finish the job. Because Oliver was with Diggle on this; they would take Deadshot down.

Only time would tell, he supposed.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Queen Residence)_

As expected, mostly everyone was gone by the time they arrived. Still, when Oliver opened the door expecting to see Laurel and Taylor, he found what looked like a small family instead. Laurel and the boy were accompanied by Detective Lance, grim-looking as always, and another woman. Older, but with Laurel's same hair and a sling around one arm. Without a doubt, this was the woman who they had seen with the kid the previous night. He eyed her a bit too long, he realized, when Laurel kept bouncing back and forth on the balls of her feet and the detective grunted in annoyance.

"Are we gonna go in or do we just stand here waiting for rain?" he grumbled, earning himself a soft elbow in his side. Startled, Oliver stepped aside to let them in, continuing to look between Laurel and the other woman. Seeds of suspicion began to nest in him. The similarities so striking that he found them hard to ignore, even though now was hardly the time for speculation.

"Right, sorry," he apologized. "I just didn't expect... all of you."

Quentin smirked.

"That's right, you haven't met my ex-wife, Dinah, yet. Sara's mother."

"Quentin," Dinah admonished, extending her uninjured arm to shake hands with Oliver. "Thank you for taking us in after the events... It's not exactly without risk..."

Oliver was about to answer when Taylor stepped forward.

"Thank you," he agreed.

"You're welcome. We'll look after you," Oliver promised.

Raisa came forward then, extending a hand toward Taylor and smiling warmly at him.

"Let me show you where I hide the good cookies," she suggested, leading the eager boy off to the kitchen and Oliver thought that maybe it was a blessing after all for her to have stayed. Then he turned to the Lance family again, pointing behind him at a tall man with a military-style haircut.

"This is Mr Robbins, our head of security."

The man nodded politely.

"Don't worry, Detective, Ma'am, the manor is secure."

"Please don't say that," Lance groaned quietly. "I'm a cop. It just makes me worry more."

"You're welcome to inspect the security measures yourself, Detective," Robbins offered, not the least bit offended at the other man's concern. Lance immediately left with the chief of security in order to go over the plan for the evening. Meanwhile, Laurel kept shifting on her feet awkwardly.

"Right, maybe some proper introductions..." she suggested nervously. "Oliver, this is my mother, Dinah Drake. Mom, this is my... friend, Oliver."

"Friend," her mother repeated with a roll of her eyes, but didn't comment further. She just smiled at Oliver knowingly, who ducked his head under the open gaze. The fact that this woman seemed to know him as Sara's boyfriend and now potentially Laurel's... something was a bit disquieting and scattered his thoughts in all directions.

"Uhm, yeah... Uh, what happened to you?" he managed to get out. "If I may ask."

She waved his concerns off.

"You know what happened to Taylor?" She looked over his shoulder to see if the boy in question was out of earshot. No need to remind him.

"I know the basics," he lied.

"Well, the man who murdered his family tried to kill him last night. I was home with him."

"Oh God," Oliver offered, as concerned as he could make himself sound.

"We were lucky. If the vigilantes and the police hadn't turned up so quickly..."

Oliver narrowed his eyes. Judging by the state of the apartment when they'd burst through the window, there had been quite a fight beforehand. Then again, he'd seen Laurel take on Vanch's goons. It was hardly a surprise that cops' wives could handle themselves just as well as cops' daughters. Still, Mrs Lance, or Ms Drake, seemed almost a bit too blasé about the whole thing, though there was unmistakable relief in her voice when she spoke of the arrival of the cavalry. Maybe he was too wired and reading too much into this.

"Let me show you to your rooms," he offered.

"Room," both women corrected. They looked at each other, blinking, before Laurel added. "We're not leaving Taylor alone tonight. After what happened yesterday..."

"Not your fault, sweetie." Oliver shuddered as the word settled heavy in his mind.

"I should have been there," Laurel insisted, even as they ascended the stairs. He didn't comment as the two spoke with each other, only showed them to the two interconnected rooms he'd thought to give them. Even though they'd made their intention clear, they could still move over to the other one if they felt like it, or if it became necessary... Laurel let her mother go in first, admiring the large, beautifully furnished room. The older woman made a beeline for the book shelf to browse through the precious leather-bound copies on display.

"Mom teaches medieval and early modern history at Central City University," Laurel explained to him.

Oliver nodded in understanding. Central City kept cropping up in his life... Some things were becoming obvious. Too obvious or was she trying to tell him something? He cast a puzzled glance at Laurel, but she remained quiet.

"She's visiting?" he inquired carefully.

Laurel suddenly looked as if he'd hit her. She recoiled from the question, jerking several feet away. Oliver followed her with his gaze and eventually joined her at the end of the hallway. Laurel seemed to be looking for something, because she glanced around as if expecting someone to pop up out of a secret passage or something. The behavior was rather suspicious in and of itself and Oliver didn't really feel he had the patience that day to deal with her secretiveness, but the pale, drawn look on her face made him keep his mouth shut. Finally, she leaned back against the wall, waiting for Oliver to join her. He kept as much distance as he thought necessary, but he couldn't resist stepping into her private bubble. She didn't look at him, though.

"What's wrong?" he asked, a little impatience shining through, and bit his lip.

Laurel didn't seem angry at the sudden demand, more resigned.

"She came because she thought she... found something. About Sara." Oliver sucked in a breath. That was not a name he'd expected to hear. Laurel then pulled out a photograph and Oliver's heart almost stopped. "It's from four months ago. I've been in contact – on and off – with the consulate all of today and yesterday. And there seems to be- they aren't sure yet, but the picture I sent them seems to match."

"Consulate? Picture?" She didn't make any sense. She couldn't make sense. Sara was gone. Dead. She had to be. She had to... but the face staring back at him from the picture... He felt like he was seeing a ghost.

"Yes, the-"

"Mr Queen, we must leave now if we want to make it to your Lawton meeting," Diggle's voice interrupted.

"You're leaving," Laurel said, somewhat frightened.

"Yeah, I- Well, I dare say my security guards and your father will be more help than me if something happens."

He watched her deflate under his stare.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," she admitted. "I'm just... I'm frightened. For Taylor. And for mom. She-" A sigh. "I didn't just come here for your security. I came because... I trust you."

The vulnerability in her voice tugged at his heartstrings. Oliver looked at her while she looked at a spot on his T-Shirt.

"Sir," Diggle prompted. Oliver swallowed thickly. He had two promises to keep and they were at odds with one another. He leaned forward until their forehead were touching, his eyes closed, and he felt Laurel's sudden breath wash over his face.

"I'll be back as soon as I can," he promised. "I will be there when you need me."

"...Me too," she murmured, before he tore himself away.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Undisclosed location)_

Floyd sat down at the table and deposited glass and bottle on it. Moving his head around to undo the kinks in his neck, he poured himself a glass. Once he'd downed it without a second thought, he poured another and sipped at it more calmly, savoring the taste. He let the alcohol run down his throat and relished the delicious burn it left in its wake. He had had to leave Germany too quickly to take much with him, so he figured he would have to get new gear, not that that would be a problem with his fees. Considering his current predicament, it seemed, however, that he wouldn't need to find his old seller after all. He didn't bother standing up or looking around, even when the softest sound announced the dangerous step of a predator.

"What do you want, White?"

"To buy your services." He heard a case being deposited on the bed behind him and finally looked. In the case was a new rifle, some smaller firearms and knives for close quarters, ammunition and a new cybernetic eye. She certainly was willing to pay handsomely.

"Not for yourself I'd wager. Who's the buyer?"

"Do you care?" she asked with a hiss.

He took another sip.

"No. Who's the target?"

"Malcolm Merlyn."

That was a name even he recognized. A feral grin spread across his features. He liked the difficult ones. They were the most fun ones.

"Your usual fee has already been transferred to your account," China White went on.

He hummed in approval.

"Good. But first, I have another appointment to keep," he told her calmly, not fearing her anger or impatience. First come, first served. And such a delicious trap it was, how could he resist.

He downed the rest of the glass.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Queen Residence)_

"Lyla called her people at A.R.G.U.S. shortly after she left us at the club," Diggle explained on their way to the garage. He paused at the entrance, like he always did, for a moment when he saw the sheer endless number of prestigious cars and priceless motorbikes. Oliver grabbed his helmet from the handlebars of his favorite bike and Diggle joined him with a sigh. "They've followed Deadshot's movements. He's back in Starling City and ARGUS has set up a meeting with a fake 'buyer' in an hour. If they take him in..."

"You'll never get your hands on him. There won't be another chance, got it," Oliver confirmed. He didn't care about the law or about doing what was right, even though he wondered what vengeance might do to his friend. Diggle wanted and needed this to have closure and he'd help him get it- but, his mind supplied, an hour gave him some extra time. He turned to Diggle as he put on the helmet. "You get into position. An hour gives me just enough time to have a little chat with Rasmus. I'll come join you after."

Diggle looked torn for a moment, turning his face upward as if trying to see the boy through the ceiling. Oliver grasped his shoulder firmly, comfortingly.

"We'll get him, Dig. He won't get away again. I promise," Oliver told him confidently.

"...Yeah," the veteran nodded, at first hesitantly and then with more and more confidence. "Yeah, we'll get Deadshot and save the boy."

"That's the spirit," Oliver hummed softly, before speeding off to the hideout. Using the hands-free headset built into his helmet, he called one of the few numbers at Queen Consolidated that he'd programmed into his phone.

" _IT Department, Felicity Smoak, how can I help you?"_ She must not have looked at the number, because Felicity seemed to think it was an internal call at Queen Consolidated. To be fair, those were probably the vast majority of calls she got. He couldn't help but think that she was wasted as a tech assistant.

"Felicity, it's me, Oliver. I called for an update on your research," he told her cryptically, knowing she would understand his hidden request for information about Rasmus' killer.

" _Oh, Mr- Oliver, right..."_ There was a pause and a brief shuffle. _"Yes, I got that information you wanted on... uh... Mr Rasmus' contractor."_

He could basically hear her wince for having said the man's name.

"So, who did he hire for the custom job? It really looked very professional, I would like one myself," Oliver continued as if nothing happened. If anyone ever listened to this conversation, they'd hopefully think that he'd expected her statement.

" _He hired a certain Henry Blank,"_ Felicity went on with a notable sigh of relief. _"But Mr Blank had to leave his work unfinished for... personal reasons. Mr Rasmus seems to have hired someone else to finish the job."_

There was a clear note of distaste in her voice now, but Oliver ignored it. He could hardly fault her for being disgusted with a man who hunted little boys. It was as he'd suspected, of course; Rasmus has simply found someone else his money could buy, who'd finish the job – finish the boy, he thought uncomfortably, and whoever stands in the way – and get him out of jail free. He quickly asked Felicity who had been hired to finish 'this masterpiece', but she had to admit that she hadn't quite managed to find the name yet. A real name, at least. Apparently, the artist used a nom de plume as Charles Lansky. Oliver grit his teeth; whoever he was, he had a sense of humor, combining the names of two famously dangerous gangster bosses in history. Having arrived at the club, he rushed in through the side door and started throwing on the costume immediately, even as he continued his conversation with Felicity.

"I need that information as soon as possible," Oliver grunted. "Or better yet, do you know where Mr Rasmus is tonight. Then I can ask him myself."

There was another pause while Felicity hastily typed away at her computer, which he barely heard over the rustling of his clothes as he exchanged his warm sweater for his leather jacket. He preferred not to think about how many laws she was breaking right then, but he definitely owed her a good bottle of wine or scotch or whichever poison she preferred. After a moment, she sent a link to his phone. When he opened it curiously, he found a live map of Starling City, a little red dot indicating the movements of Rasmus' car. Only a brief glance at the map revealed that Rasmus was on his way to the airport, even if he took the back route to avoid being noticed. As Oliver jumped on the Hood's bike, he knew Rasmus' carefulness would give him enough time to reach him. He kept the line to Felicity open and told her to direct him. Even while waiting for her to locate his phone, he drove off into the night. He was in a bit of a hurry after all, but Felicity was quick and guided him through the city to reach an intersection he would have to pass so Oliver could set a trap.

"Thank you," he told her quickly, before shutting off the connection abruptly. The less she was confronted with his methods, the better for both of them, he figured. Without hesitated, he made his way to higher ground. When a car approached, he checked his phone to confirm it was Rasmus. Then he zipped the phone into his jacket and nocked one of his cable arrows, training it right on the hood of the car.

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 _(Plaza)_

Diggle positioned himself inconspicuously to the side. He watched as Lyla and her team moved into position themselves, going through the last checks of their mics. He looked around the room with narrowed eyes. The commlinks were barely visible and everyone tried to act as normal as possible, but Diggle's trained eye caught the two janitors who were just a bit too curious about their surroundings. The couple having coffee together, holding hands but barely looking at one another. The man on the other side of the plaza reading the same page of the newspaper for the last fifteen minutes. He looked at Lyla, who was calmly sipping from her cup of tea, then added another spoonful of sugar. _She always did like her tea sweet_ , he couldn't help but think. Diggle shook his head. For all the world, she seemed perfectly at ease waiting for a business partner or maybe a friend on lunch break, but he noticed the subtle tension in her shoulders and how she tried to look around without being too conspicuous about it. She was nervous, as she should be. If this went south, Deadshot would pounce on her first. Even if the other agents could arrest him, her life was currently in the most danger.

Diggle then tried to look around for possible vantage points Oliver might pick. There weren't many. There was a terrace with a balustrade on the far side of the building, from which the entire area could be overlooked. It was really the only possible vantage point from which Oliver might be able to get Lawton. Diggle realized also that his friend would likely have to opt for a killing shot, or else he would simply play into the agents' hands. Diggle's gut clenched; he wanted to avenge Andy himself, but the number of agents Lyla had brought for this made it next to impossible to slip Lawton away from them, even if Oliver used his shot to create confusion instead. They'd rush to secure Lawton, before turning their attention to the Hood. The veteran huffed in irritation; at least Lawton would be dead and Andy could rest peacefully. His brother would be avenged, even if not by his own hands.

He checked his watch. It was almost time. He checked the balustrade again, but it remained empty.

"Come on, man, where are you?"

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Once on top of the car, everything had gone rather smoothly. The driver had gotten out and Oliver had thrown a dart to disarm him, then added an arrow in the gut for good measure. He'd live, if he'd get to the hospital fast enough. Oliver had then proceeded to smash the sunroof and pulled a frightened Edward Rasmus half out of the car. His face flattened against the cover, the pointy end of another dart scraping against his cheek, the man had turned from whimpering to threats to attempts to buy himself free in quick succession. He held his hand flat to the side, letting go of the whiskey tumbler he'd been holding. The glass rolled off the car and smashed against the floor and Oliver was more sorry for the waste of, no doubt, excellent scotch than he was for Rasmus and his driver combined. Placing his knee against Rasmus' shoulder to add an extra bit of pressure and gently, threateningly scratching him with the sharpened sides of the dart, he leaned down close to the man to speak directly in his ear.

"You hired Henry Blank to kill the Moore family and when he failed to kill Taylor Moore as well, you bought a ticket to Shanghai. Out of the police's reach you would be waiting for another assassin to do what Blank couldn't."

"I don't know what you mean. I have a business meeting with Chen Industries subsidiaries in China. I'll only be gone for a few days," he whined.

"Is that why there's no record for a return flight," Oliver growled darkly.

"It was an impromptu meeting. I'll book my return flight la-aah!"

Oliver, having enough of his lies, dragged the dart firmly across his cheek. Blood seeped from the cut onto his leather glove and down to Rasmus' collar. The wound was deep enough that it would leave a scar. He removed the weapon briefly in order to forcibly turn Rasmus head around.

"You have another cheek and after that a throat," Oliver warned him in a hard tone.

"Okay, okay, the Moores were in the way. I had to get rid of them."

"Tell that to the cops. I'm only interested in the name of the killer you hired next..."

"Charles Lans-"

"His real name!" Oliver thundered, ripping open the other cheek and pressing the point of the dart against Rasmus' delicate Adam's apple. "And I'm in a hurry, so..." He pressed a little deeper, drawing just a few drops of blood. "...hurry."

"Floyd Lawton, okay, his name is Floyd Lawton," Rasmus blurted out, almost stumbling over the words. "But in his line of business he's known as-"

"Deadshot," Oliver muttered, closing his eyes briefly. Now he was in an even greater hurry. He fumbled quickly through Rasmus' jacket, finding and tearing his ticket into pieces. Then he pulled him up to come face to face with the spot of darkness created by the hood where Oliver's own face should be. If he hadn't been frightened before, now he was terrified. "You'll call the police and wait for them here. You'll tell them what you did and you pray to God I get to Lawton before he can get to the boy."

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 _(Plaza)_

The last couple of minutes ticked by as if in slow motion. Even though he was supposed to be inconspicuous, Diggle couldn't help but keep looking between Lyla, the terrace and the entrance. The picture never changed, except for Lyla's growing discomfort. She wasn't hiding her glances around the room anymore and checking her watch almost constantly. Diggle looked again at the balustrade, willing Oliver to magically turn up and take his position. Not that it would do them any good if Deadshot had realized it was a trap and simply stayed away. Or worse; Diggle suddenly realized that if Oliver wasn't in position, Lawton could very well take that spot and fire at the agents and the civilians below. He scanned the area very carefully, but there was no sign of either the sniper or Oliver. Diggle checked his watch. The time had come and gone. It was clear that neither his enemy nor his friend were going to make an appearance tonight. The veteran growled deeply, slapping his flat hand against the column he had hidden behind. It was hard to breathe, hard to function when even his friend abandoned him. Diggle thought back to the boy at the house, but only Laurel's face appeared before his minds eye, making Diggle grit his teeth involuntarily. Suddenly a hand was on his shoulder that forcibly turned him around. A second later he looked into Lyla's stormy eyes and knew he'd have a lot of explaining to do when she pulled him away into the night.

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 _(Queen Residence)_

Laurel was quietly talking on the phone to some official or other. At least that's what it sounded like from the side of the conversation Dinah could follow. Her daughter was speaking in such hushed tones, though, that she only caught every third word or so, so she really had no idea what she was talking about. She decided to concentrate on Taylor instead. Even after a hearty meal and plenty of cookies and milk, the poor dear couldn't hide how exhausted he was anymore. The last few days had taken everything out of him. He'd protested being tucked into bed so early, but he'd been dead to the world in only a few minutes. Dinah sat at the edge of the bed, stroking softly through the little boy's hair. She thought back to when Sara and Laurel had been so young. Only a few years apart, Sara had taken to being a big sister quickly. A bit of jealously and worry that Dinah and Quentin wouldn't care for her anymore after they'd had a kid of their own aside, she'd been thrilled to have someone to play with. And Dinah and Quentin had made it very clear that Sara was one of them, making all three of them so very happy. She still remembered fondly, how Sara had taken Laurel under her wing, whether it was in school, while playing together or training together or at any other time. Sara was always going to be a wild child, but she'd nurtured Laurel's sense of responsibility and kept her out of trouble. Looking at Taylor now, she wished she could get those days back.

Laurel finally hung up. More conflicted than ever, she bit her lower lip and cast a glance at her mother. She was so convinced that Sara was still alive, she would look for her for the rest of her life and die a little bit on the inside every time a clue led nowhere. Laurel couldn't fathom putting her mother through that uncertainty, but could she truly deny her the hope of seeing her daughter alive again?! She drew a blank, really. She didn't know what to do; if Sara was alive, she'd move heaven and earth to get her back. If she was alive, why wasn't she home? Why hadn't she called? Surely there must have been one kind-hearted stranger to help a castaway call home to her family... If she was alive and not telling them, what was she doing? Sara would call, she would not let her mother, father and sister suffer from her silence. But if she was not, it would just break all of their hearts again. Laurel moved to place her phone on a nearby table and ran a hand through her hair. Her life was a mess and she seemed to have no control of the earthquakes that seemed to shake it up every few weeks these days.

"Is everything alright, sweetie?"

Her mother's concerned look pierced her heart.

"How-" She had to swallow to get the lump out of her throat. "How would Sara have survived? She was in the middle of the North China Sea."

Dinah frowned.

"I told you. There are hundreds of little islands. Oliver landed on one of the larger ones. Sara could have washed up on another."

Laurel looked away. She couldn't face the earnestness on her mother's face. She was so convinced; she clung to that hope. Clung to the picture she'd shown Laurel before her father had turned up. The picture of a girl with Sara's cap – no, a cap _like_ Sara's. Tens of thousands must have been sold over the years. To any number of young American women.

"Oliver had a lifeboat," Laurel reminded her mother without looking at her. "Sara did not."

Even out of her peripheral vision she could see her mother begin to frown.

"Do you want your sister to be dead?" she asked quietly and Laurel sucked in a breath as her head whipped around to face her mother.

"No!" she called, then quickly lowered her tone to an urgent whisper when Taylor stirred slightly on the bed. "No, of course not."

"Because it would be easier in some ways." Dinah gave her a meaningful look, then glanced around the room.

"Do you think me that selfish?!" Laurel hissed when she realized her mother was alluding to Oliver.

"...I didn't," she admitted with some reluctance. "But you seem hellbent to persuade me not to trust my own eyes."

Laurel startled.

"I just don't want to see your heart breaking again. Or mine," she told her mother, clearly offended. "But I guess that's selfish, too... If- if there was a chance that Sara had survived at sea, I would search every inch of the world for her, but... there was nothing but water everywhere and she didn't even have a life vest according to what Oliver told the court."

"Oliver is not the most reliable witness," Dinah reminded her.

"What reason did he have to lie?" Laurel asked stubbornly.

"I don't know, but the island clearly changed him."

Laurel looked away. She couldn't argue with that statement. Still, it made no sense for him to lie about what happened to Sara, unless she somehow made it to the island with him and he left her there. Which didn't seem likely, given their romantic relationship. But Oliver had lied about the island before, claiming to have been alone there. What more was there that he didn't tell her? Before either Laurel or her mother could ponder this further, the door was opened and their quarry came in looking for them. He was a little red in the face as if from exertion and Laurel wondered again if the 'Lawton Meeting' was a reference to Floyd Lawton aka Deadshot. Her father was right behind him as they entered the room, casting a quick glance at Taylor. The boy was waking up from all the noise, filling Laurel with guilt for having argued with her mother right then and there. Oliver opened his mouth to say something when suddenly the lights went out. There was a moment of tense silence while people expected the worst.

"Don't worry. It's an old house; this happens all the time," Oliver lied smoothly. "I'll go check the generators, you just sit tight."

And he was out the door, followed by a suspicious thump. The Lance family looked at each other.

"What's going on?" Taylor asked sleepily from the bed.

"Old house, my butt," Quentin grunted. "I saw the security system. It's state of the art and so is their electric network."

"He's here, isn't he?" Taylor asked, suddenly upright in bed. Dinah was with him in a second.

"It'll be okay, Taylor. We'll protect you," Dinah promised soothingly.

"Like last night," he suggested, almost hopefully. As frightening as the experience had been, it had obviously instilled Taylor with some confidence in Dinah's ability to protect him. "When you went all Black Canary on him?"

The entire family stilled.

"Black... Canary?"

"Yeah, that's what the news are calling her. Hood called her Canary when the other woman hurt her and it's so cool, it stuck."

Laurel and her father exchanged relieved glances. Well, it seemed the world finally caught up with her name. Laurel moved over to join her mother on the bed and give Taylor a kiss on the forehead.

"Yeah, just like that," she told him with a smile. "But first, we need to hide you."

Taylor nodded eagerly and didn't resist when Dinah picked him up. She indicated for Quentin to get the pillow and a blanket and moved them to the spacious bathroom. Placing pillow and blanket into the tub in the far corner to make it more comfortable, she sat Taylor down and reminded him to stay quiet, no matter what happened. Then she turned to Quentin and Laurel.

"I'll stay with the boy," Quentin said without being prompted, even as he pulled his gun out if its holster. "We'll lock the door from the inside and I'll shoot whoever tries to get through."

The two women nodded. Then Dinah knocked against the wooden door in a specific pattern, alternating three slow knocks with two fast ones. She repeated it a second time to ensure that it was burned into everyone's memory. It would be the sign with which she would announce herself once the danger had passed or if they needed to move Taylor.

"Any other type of knock and you shoot whoever comes in, okay?"

Quentin nodded, albeit reluctantly. If the killer got either of them to perform a knock, even if it was the wrong one, he would likely use them as a shield. He wasn't sure that he could shoot his family. The detective looked back at the boy, huddled, quiet and still, in the bathtub. He'd better find a way to protect both Taylor and his family if it came to that.

"Go," he told the two of them, instead of explaining his concerns.

They closed the door and heard him lock it from the inside.

"I'll stay here, just in case. Can you and Oliver handle him?" Dinah asked quietly. There was so much more to that question than it seemed. She was far from Ted and her uniform and this was Oliver's house and she might be dangerously distracted due to Sara. There was so much zipping around in her head that Laurel took a moment to clear her mind. None of that mattered now. Secrets and sisters would have to wait.

"We have to. He can't get Taylor," Laurel answered, steeling herself. Taking a deep breath, she stepped away, making a beeline for the door, but when she pulled on it, it was shut tight. She quickly tried the door in the adjacent room, but that one too wouldn't budge. Laurel grit her teeth, realizing that was the thump she'd heard right after Oliver had left. He'd done something to the door to keep them inside and, possibly, keep the killer out. She huffed at the predicament.

"I could blow down the door," her mother offered with a wolfish grin.

"No, we might still need it," Laurel answered as her eyes fell on the window front. There was a door to the balcony. Acrobatics, it was. With a sigh, she made her way over, though not without scanning for spies or snipers. The coast seemed clear enough, so she stepped onto the balcony. Pausing only briefly to see if there was any movement where there shouldn't be, she cast a surreptitious glance at the front door. Even at this distance and angle she could tell it was open. There was a large glass window front above it that she'd admired on their way up to the house. She caught some hectic movement behind it and knew that's where she needed to be. Her mother stepped up behind her, eying the distance and the angle from the balcony that stuck out over the greens. Not for the first time, Laurel was incredibly grateful she'd been born a meta-human. This way she could utter the following statement with some conviction. "I can do it."

"Yes, but be careful."

She moved back a few paced to gain momentum and jumped of the balustrade.

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Oliver had found the killer without much difficultly. He'd literally come across him rounding a corner. Lawton had opened fire almost immediately and it was only thanks to his island-honed reflexes that Oliver had managed to duck behind the corner again. When Lawton had come around at a reasonable distance to avoid a trap, he'd found the hallway empty. A few surprised steps and he found himself right underneath Oliver, who dropped from his position hiding right under the ceiling. Lawton's gun went off before it was wrenched from his hand, but thankfully there was no one else in the hallway. Oliver dared not think about what had happened to the guards. Guilt washed over him briefly as he'd been the one to drag them into this, but he swallowed it down only a moment later when Lawton tried to lung for him. He grabbed onto both of the man's arms and swung them around till they both crashed into the wall. Deadshot pulled a handgun out of its holster, but Oliver blocked his arm before he could aim at him, twisting the weapon out of his hand and throwing it down the hallway. The killer's other fist came around, making Oliver duck underneath it, only to find himself trapped against the wall by Deadshot's body. The killer's knee came up and caught Oliver in the stomach once.

The second time he managed to block the attack and butted his head against Deadshot's nose instead as he swiftly rose to his full height. While he stumbled backward, Oliver drop-kicked him with his back into the opposite wall. When he moved to stick his booted foot into the man's gut, Deadshot turned away and put some distance between them by moving back toward the entrance. Oliver pursued him, then suddenly had to duck under a knife when Lawton turned quickly back around to him. The knife came down catching his arm as he blocked it. Oliver couldn't suppress a yelp of pain as the blood gushed hot across his skin, but forced Deadshot back toward the staircase anyway, even though the blade kept digging into his flesh. Oliver pressed him against the railing of the staircase, ready to push him across when Lawton feigned a knee-strike to his gut and punched him across the face when he moved to block it. He fell down the stairs with a grunt, but at least Deadshot concentrated on him rather than going after the kid. He strolled down the stairs almost leisurely while putting away the knife and pulling out another gun instead.

"Well, aren't you full of surprises, Mr Queen," the assassin purred. "What happened to you on that island?"

When he was close enough, Oliver kicked at his hand, forcing him to retreat so he could gather himself.

"You're about to find out," he responded, rushing Deadshot to kick him in the chest before he could raise the gun again. It fell down a few stairs, but the assassin had proven to be a formidable opponent even without it. He ducked under Oliver's next punch and gripped him around the middle. Quickly, Oliver put all his weight in a swing that threw him back down. When Deadshot went for the gun less than a foot from him then, Oliver swiftly kicked it out of the way. It skidded straight between the pillars of the railing and down into the atrium. Oliver jumped up against the wall for momentum, but Lawton twisted away from the punch, finding his way slightly behind Oliver to push him onward. Oliver rolled over his back to get back up.

Suddenly, the glass shattered behind Lawton. Oliver didn't recognize what or who caused it to break; all he saw was a blur that landed at Deadshot's back. The assassin turned around, already swinging to throw a punch, but, judging by his sudden stillness, it was caught. Then Oliver saw _Laurel_ perform a move he'd only ever seen one person execute before. She rolled across Lawton's own back and, using the arm she'd hooked around his, twisted him around and threw him over the railing down into the atrium where he crashed into the table and the vase that were the center piece of the entrance hall. Oliver knew he should pay attention to Deadshot, but he couldn't help the look he cast Laurel. As she stood there with various cuts all across her arms and legs from where she'd broken the window, it was almost like he saw her for the very first time. Except he was looking at someone else entirely.

She looked back at him.

"You."

"Now?" she asked. "You wanna do this, now?"

He grit his teeth, glancing back at the assassin picking himself up off the floor.

"Later," she offered, with some urgency.

Oliver set his jaw and focused fully on Deadshot.

"Later."

The two of them jumped down in front of the open door, then moved forward to block him on both sides, careful not to step on the bodies of two guards and the delivery man. He grabbed a shard of the vase and threw it at Oliver even as Laurel moved in on him. When he threw a punch, she ducked under it, turning around to kick him in the gut. He stumbled backward against the fireplace, but blocked her next attack. She swiftly changed course, slipped behind his back and with a quick kick shoved him in Oliver's direction, where he was greeted by a fist to the face and a knee to the chest. Deadshot stumbled back toward Laurel, whose elbow found its target in his side. Then she pushed into the back of his closest knee, so that Oliver's foot caught him right across the jaw. Lawton was quick to roll away, but the two vigilantes weren't going to let him escape. Following him, Oliver kicked at his legs. Lawton managed to jump over them, but the small vase Laurel grabbed from the mantelpiece and threw in his direction still caught him in the head mid-jump. His hand went to his knife. When he had a good grip on it, he pounced on Oliver.

The former castaway wasn't quite back on his feet yet; still, he managed to throw Deadshot away from him and jump up. Laurel blocked the knife attack no doubt intended for his back, while Oliver grabbed a poker from next to the fireplace and quickly stabbed it through the assassin's gut. There was a grunt of pain from Deadshot and a small anguished sound from Laurel. The knife clattered onto the carpet and the assassin crumpled into the lawyer, who quickly lay him down on the ground. She ripped a part of her shirt to press it against the rapidly bleeding wound. First though, she took a quick look at its position. With any luck, it hadn't nicked any internal organs. She cast a quick glance at Oliver and wondered if she should think him so skillful or Deadshot so lucky.

"Oliver," she muttered, but she really only had herself to blame. She was not naïve enough to believe that this battle would end any other way: with someone dead. She'd come out to make sure it wasn't him. Now she looked down at Deadshot, guilt licking at her conscience. This was the only other outcome she could imagine; she'd known that and she'd helped anyway.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

That got a chortle out of him.

"No one can know my secret," Oliver replied without thinking.

She turned to look at him fiercely.

"Well, what about me then?! Why don't you grab another poker?"

Oliver bit his tongue. He'd known the moment he'd said it that it was the wrong thing to say. This was the first time she'd willingly participated in killing a man and he should have handled it better. Now she lashed out because she didn't know where else to put all the feelings welling up in her; guilt, fear, anger, hatred of herself and of the world. He'd expected this reaction, but it still made him irrationally angry, so he lifted the poker as if he intended to strike her with it. Laurel's jaw squared, but she held her ground and Oliver threw the damn poker down away from him. It landed somewhere near Robbins' dead body, making Oliver wince. Then he got right up into Laurel's face until he could see no more than her eyes.

"I never would," he growled. "I thought you knew that by now."

She bit her lip, looking suitably taken aback after her initial provocation.

"And this protects you too. It's not just me," he continued angrily.

"No... I never wanted him to kill you and I was afraid... that he would. It's why I came down," she admitted.

"Co-could you flirt w-hen I'm de-dead," Lawton coughed, blood trickling from his lips. Then he fell quiet. Laurel renewed her efforts to quell the bleeding in his gut.

Oliver didn't mind the assassin any further. Instead he gently moved toward Laurel, murmuring soothingly to the shocked woman. He could see tears streak down her face even though not a single sound left her lips. He knelt on the ground with her to hold her. She took to his embrace like a thirsty man took to water, shuffling closer and pressing herself into his chest. She glanced between him and Lawton and her surroundings as if they were alien things that she didn't recognize, even while she clung to him as she cried.

"What have I done?" were the first words she said, a desperate sob against his shirt.

"You have done nothing." He could feel her shaking her head, so he gathered her face into his hands. As angry, as betrayed as he felt deep down, her teary face still tugged at his heartstrings. The time for confrontations would come later; now he kissed her forehead and her cheek and pressed his face against hers in comfort and encouragement. "He was trying to kill you and me. He came to kill Taylor. There was never a choice; we had to protect him... and ourselves. It's okay, it'll be okay."

"I don't know if I'll be," she breathed. "I-I... I knew this would happen and I h-helped. I may as well have killed him myself."

"Don't think like that-"

"But I did," she protested. "How... After the first time, how did you... go on."

Oliver thought back to the first time he had killed on the island and realized that he couldn't quite pinpoint the exact moment or the victim. For the most part, the people he killed wore masks of some kind and with few exceptions, he hadn't bothered to find out who was underneath it. One faceless mercenary bled into another, but this was not the answer Laurel was looking for.

"The truth is, I never had a lot of time to think about it. On the island, I was always almost dead, I couldn't concentrate on how my actions made me feel – until they didn't anymore," he admitted. "You were right, in Iron Heights. I don't feel remorse when I kill a guilty man. Not really. But I do feel it chipping away at my soul every time I do."

"And that's not remorse?" Her voice trembled, so he held her closer.

"Remorse isn't selfish," he replied.

"I don't know if I can... I don't know if I'll be alright," she reiterated darkly.

Oliver closed his eyes. She had to be. She had to. He knew that without a doubt. Needed it like he needed breath – and wasn't that just a fine predicament the two of them had maneuvered themselves into. He cursed himself; anger competing with fear, neither emotion having anywhere to go.

"If we'll be," she admitted further and he shook his head. He couldn't think about that now, wouldn't think about it. They needed to tell Taylor and her parents that it was alright. He needed to check on Rasmus and mend things with Diggle. She felt his denial and fell silent. There was a car outside; Oliver tensed, but if the new arrival was hostile, he knew when he heard another car that there were way too many of them. He didn't let go of Laurel.

A moment later, Diggle and Lyla came through the door and Oliver breathed easy again. More agents followed, no doubt from A.R.G.U.S. Oliver frowned, but watched as Diggle and Lyla surveyed the scene, took notice of Lawton's unmoving body, ordered it to be taken away, while the vigilante wondered how they'd figured it out. Diggle came over to them. His face was grim. Angry. Perhaps even hateful. Oliver just felt numb.

"Felicity called," he muttered by way of explanation.

Oliver had a split second of clarity to feel impressed, then Diggle pulled them both to their feet and suggested Laurel go see her family and Taylor. Oliver watched her go, though he listened to every word of reproach Diggle spat in his face. He thought of telling his partner that Laurel was Black Canary, but it felt like the wrong time. As much as the moment felt like anything at all.

"You said we were in this together and then you picked Laurel over me. Over everything. Always her," Diggle accused him.

"I made a choice. Rasmus had hired Deadshot to kill Taylor. I came back to warn security. I wasn't going to leave him defenseless."

"You could have called me," the veteran insisted. "Don't you think I would have rushed back to help."

"To help the boy or yourself?"

"Oh, that's rich! Are you preaching to me about vengeance now?!"

"No, Dig-" He sighed. "Dig, there just wasn't time."

"You found time to change."

"Out of necessity. I- Look, I wasn't thinking about the trap or about Andy," he admitted. "I was thinking about Taylor and, yes, about Laurel and I couldn't- I had to be here."

Diggle scowled.

"So did I."

And with that, he left.

 **End of chapter 13!**

A/N: I apologize for the late update. It was supposed to come out early in the new year, but I got sidetracked with work. I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless!

(1) The quote is originally from JLU.

(2) Paraphrase of a quote by Harvey Dent in The Dark Knight


	15. Chapter 14 (Part I)

**Guardian Angels**

 **Summary:** AU/ After five years in hell, Oliver Queen has returned home with only one goal – to save his city. Unfortunately, nobody told him he'd have to wait in line.

Thank you to Raylion helping me ready the text for posting.

 **Chapter 14: Friends Like These (Part I)**

 _Deadshot swung her around to make Oliver pause as her body impeded his movement. Discarding her to the side, he came out at Oliver, catching him in the face with his fist before kicking him across the room. When Oliver hit his head on the stairs at his fall, Deadshot approached him, pulling out the knife again to give him the final blow. Something colliding with Lawton's back made him turn back to Laurel. He looked down at the picture frame she'd thrown at him and grinned, but when he focused on her again, he barely had time to duck under one of the smaller vases on the mantelpiece she sent flying in his direction._

 _She managed to throw a second one that caught him in the shoulder before he was on her. She ducked under his punch, satisfied to hear the crunch his hand made when it collided with the mantelpiece instead of her face. He caught her arm, though, and managed to smash her against it, then trip her so she was lying on the floor. Laurel shook her head in annoyance and pain at not having paid enough attention. She swiftly raised her foot to plant it in his groin, before crawling away. He thrust down his knife even as he doubled over, sticking it deep into her leg, making her scream. He fell to his knees when he pulled it out, crawling over her. Laurel blocked his next strike – toward her chest. Normally, she was stronger than just about any one man, but her position didn't give her a lot of leverage and she could feel the blood flowing from her leg like a steady red river, warming her legs as the blood left her body. She tried moving the other leg over Lawton's shoulder, but the searing pain from the tension it caused in her wounded thigh had her cry out and lose focus on blocking the knife long enough that its tip sank into her flesh._

Dreams and flashbacks that had kept him awake night and day mixed together as his mind reeled in protest at recent events.

 _She didn't have a lot of time._

 _When Oliver regained consciousness he found himself right next to Mr Robbins. He closed his eyes briefly, fighting down the new rush of guilt when he realized what had woken him from his stupor was a god-awful scream. He sat up quickly, looking around the atrium. His gaze danced briefly over the body of the other guard, before it fell on Laurel, trying to keep Lawton's knife from piercing her heart with one hand, while likely looking for something to smash across his head with the other. Lawton kept his face far enough away that she couldn't just reach into his eye. Oliver jumped up, ignoring the dizziness that came with that and made to move over to help her._

She had shot him. She'd really shot him. Blood pooled in his cupped hand; he didn't have time to wait for Felicity to finish working on her own.

" _I thought I was going to die."_

 _The words suddenly danced in his head. Laurel's mother's words, echoing as loudly as Laurel's recent scream. Oliver grit his teeth. Why couldn't she just throw him off; she was stronger, right? Now there was true fear in Laurel's eyes. Maybe she would... But her scream had been oh so human before. She looked so fragile. He pushed all thoughts of waiting – testing – away when the blade scraped across her flesh. He rushed over and began pulling Lawton off her, just as her hand found a poker and pushed it upward into the killer's gut in a frenzy. There was a strangled noise as Oliver's grip loosened a little in surprise and Lawton fell further onto the poker. Laurel crawled out from under him in a panic, but she only had eyes for her hand on the instrument. She couldn't seem to let it go, even when Oliver let Lawton fall sideways to the ground – dead or unconscious, he didn't know._

He didn't know how he'd made it to the car, but he was grateful that she had apparently forgotten to shut it. With a groan of pain he heaved himself onto the back seats, fighting for clarity.

 _Oliver didn't mind the assassin any further. Instead he gently moved toward Laurel, murmuring soothingly to the shocked woman. He could see tears streak down her face even though not a single sound left her lips and she was still staring at her hand. He gently removed it from the weapon and knelt on the ground with her to hold her. She took to his embrace like a thirsty man took to water, shuffling closer and pressing herself into his chest. She held her right hand slightly away from herself as if it were an alien thing that she didn't recognize, while her other hand clung to him as she cried._

His side felt like it wanted to tear in two and he needed several attempts, but finally he lay exhausted and bleeding on the seats. He checked the wound underneath his hand and evaluated it as best he could through his leather jacket.

But his mind was in pieces. His mother kneeling, pleading – then shooting him. And then all the blood that fled his body brought him back to another day and another wound. It was a repeated nightmare that saw him lose Laurel to something worse than death. Even now, she was so far away from him, suffering silently. Unable to reconnect with herself in light of what has happened. Unable to face him, even. He had thought to do something to get her back, but hadn't known what. Now he had the perfect excuse.

Pulling out his phone, he dialed the number of her company cell phone. She picked up on the second ring. He tried to say something, but all that came out was a strangled groan. His whole body started burning with fatigue and blood loss. He needed to get out of here.

"Hello, look, I'm not sure how you got this number, but it's a company smart phone and I don't think my bosses appreciate you trying to... uh... _solicitate_ their employees... So-"

"Felicity-" he croaked. He barely managed to get the word out.

"Oliver?" she asked surprised. "Did you get the wrong number?"

"I confronted my mother," he heaved in reply, ignoring her teasing for the time being. "I'm hurt. I need you to go to your car and-"

He coughed.

"Oliver?! Oliver!"

"I'm...here. I'm okay, but I need you to go... now!"

"Okay, okay."

He could hear the clicking of her heels through the line. He breathed a little easier, though it must have still sounded like he had a minor heart attack because she inquired again about his state. Oliver just grunted in reply and told her to hurry. The line interrupted when she entered the elevator and the vigilante swore to himself. What seemed like an eternity later he could hear the door to the parking lot open from across the empty space and saw her marching anxiously toward her car. Toward him... and he breathed a sigh of relief.

She got in without noticing him and kept staring at her phone, expecting him to call again. He reached forward with the hand that wasn't busy trying to stop the bleeding to carefully touch her shoulder. Felicity nearly jumped out of her skin at the touch, turning around ready to throw her phone at her attacker. Instead she sucked in a panicked breath when she realized it was him and then saw the blood trickling onto her backseat.

"Oh my god, Oliver!" she breathed, scared. "What happened?"

"My mother didn't appreciate being questioned," he barked back.

"Didn't ask her as yourself?"

"Didn't get around to that," he admitted to her astounded face. "Figured I'd take the direct route and save some time. Didn't exactly go as planned..."

"I can see that, unfortunately. Alright, we need to get you to a hospital."

"No!" he protested. "You know very well I can't go to a hospital, certainly not dressed like this. And how would Oliver Queen explain that he got shot anyway?"

"Okay, then to your cave or whatever – headquarters."

A moment of terse silence followed.

"Well?" Felicity prompted.

"There's no one there," Oliver admitted darkly. "So unless you feel like sowing this yourself..."

She looked down at the hand covering the wound, blood trickling through his fingers, and swallowed uncomfortably. Quickly, Felicity looked out front again.

"Then where?"

Oliver's brow furrowed. With nobody waiting at the club and his home being out of the question, that left only one place he could go. His stomach churned a little. Things were so complicated at the moment. Then again, when weren't they. He rolled his eyes at himself and gave Felicity directions.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Laurel's apartment)_

She didn't much feel like company, but the knocking was loud and incessant and sooner or later her neighbors would get curious and eventually complain. Hoping it was a delivery guy who'd gotten the wrong address, she pulled open the door. To her astonishment she found a petite blonde with glasses who was dwarfed by Oliver's imposing form. Even with a blanket haphazardly arranged around his shoulders, she could tell he was wearing his vigilante armor and so ushered them in without asking any questions.

"Uhm," the blonde said shifting from one foot to the other. "Look, he's... ah... a bit heavy."

Laurel woke from her stupor and took Oliver completely off her hands. Much to Felicity's surprise, the woman Oliver had directed her to didn't seem at all troubled by his additional weight. He still managed to put one foot in front of the other, but otherwise she basically carried him all the way to her bedroom and dropped him on the bed.

"Could you get the first aid kit from the drawer of that nightstand, please," she asked, pointing Felicity toward the piece of furniture on the other side of the bed.

"Ah, yes!", Felicity jumped, glad to have something to do. She watched as the other woman quickly removed both the blanket and Oliver's leather jacket and took what seemed to be an expert look at the wound.

"You, my friend, have more luck than brains," she finally asserted, whacking him playfully up the back of his head.

Oliver smirked.

"Is that a bad thing?"

She shook her head.

"What was it this time? Interrupted an arms deal? Saved a bunch of teenage girls from sex traffickers? Or-"

"Confronted my mother," he interrupted, "about the list."

"Ah, the infamous list. You still haven't told me what that's about - wait, is your mother on it?"

Oliver shook his head at her shocked expression. Laurel seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. He reached out to caress her face and she held tightly onto his hand when he did.

"But she owned a copy," Felicity blurted out, uncomfortable with the intimate scene. Then she bit the inside of her cheek in embarrassment. It might have been better to just sneak away. She quickly shook her head clear as the two glanced at her simultaneously and realization dawned on her. "You're that... uh blackbird... woman."

"Blackbird," a new voice pondered and Felicity turned around to find an older woman standing in the doorway. "Now there's a name you can call me so as not to confuse us."

She smirked as she looked at the pair.

"You're still in Starling," Oliver said without thinking. "...Sorry."

"Yeah, the Chinese Consulate finally got back to me," Laurel told him. At his glance, she waved her hand. "I'll tell you later. We need to get this stitched. Mom, could you get some alcohol to clean the wound."

"Sure, sweetie," the older woman replied and left the room.

Laurel got up and extended her hand to Felicity.

"Laurel Lance, also Black Canary," she introduced herself. "And that was my mother Dinah Drake."

"Felicity Smoak, I work at Queen Consolidated. Uh, here," she said, handing her the first aid kit.

"Thanks," Laurel replied and pulled out a couple of things from the little box. One item sparked Felicity's curiosity.

"I thought your mother was supposed to get alcohol."

"I figured Oliver might feel a bit embarrassed with my mother ogling him."

"I don't know; he strikes me as more of a peacock-"

"I'm right here, you know."

"So?" they both replied.

"Uh, women," he complained. "I'm dying and you're busy blogging..."

"Men, you're dying even if you have just a cold," Laurel muttered unsympathetically. "The wound's not that bad. Mercifully, your mother is a lousy shot. If my father had gotten a crack at you, he wouldn't have missed."

"He's missed plenty of times. He even missed the opportunity to prove I'm the Hood, even though I basically dropped it in his lap."

Before Laurel could reply, Felicity piped up.

"Should I leave you two alone?" she asked teasingly.

"No, I need someone to help hold him down when I stitch him back up. He was lucky. It's barely more than a graze."

"It doesn't bleed like a graze."

"You'd be surprised," Laurel told her.

"I think maybe we should call your mother," Felicity suggested. "I'm not sure I can-"

"You'll do fine."

"Whatever happened to no surgery without anesthetics?" Oliver asked from the bed, his stomach dropping a little. Laurel uncapped the bottle of alcohol, poured some on a piece of sterile cloth and started to clean his wound. He hissed at the sudden sting of the disinfectant, every muscle in his upper body tensing and his hands balling into fists as he gripped the sheets tightly.

"I don't keep any at home."

"Why wouldn't you?!", he asked accusingly as she poured a little alcohol straight on the wound for good measure.

"Because Ted and I agreed that if anything were to happen to me, it wouldn't happen at home," she responded as calmly as she could, even as he kept half twisting away. Though, in lieu of recent events, she might have to revise that judgment... Finally, she had enough and pushed him down on the bed with both hands on his shoulders. She indicated to Felicity that now was the time to keep him still and, once the blonde had her hand firmly set on his shoulders, she picked up a book from her nightstand and had him bite down onto it. "Ready?"

His reply was muffled by her book, but she took it as consent. When she pushed the needle through his skin the first time, though, he jerked a little and Felicity really did have trouble holding him down. She should have expected that; he was a lot stronger than your average trust fund brat. Laurel inwardly cursed. As if their situation wasn't embarrassing enough, now her mother would... It couldn't be helped. Quickly, she called her mother back into the room for their impromptu surgery. She instructed Felicity to hold onto his legs so he wouldn't kick them, although she doubted he would. Oliver was certainly good at managing pain, she was surprised he jerked at all. Laurel took Felicity's spot on his shoulders and her mother began stitching his wound.

She could almost hear the outer case of her book cracking with how hard he bit down on it, but he didn't twist again. He didn't resist at all again, in fact, and Laurel wondered if he'd done that on purpose or if she was applying too much pressure. When they were done and she saw hand-shaped marks on his shoulders, she bit her lips guiltily.

"I'm sorry. I should have been more careful."

He shook his head.

"Not your fault." And there was so much more in his voice than just that night. When he looked at her again, his eyes burned with intent.

Laurel closed her eyes briefly. She only vaguely noticed that her mother pulled Felicity out of the room with her, even though she put the bandages in Laurel's hand before leaving. Laurel sat down next to him on the bed and bandaged him as if on autopilot. She couldn't look at him.

"It's not that simple... I keep saying that, don't I?"

"I wish it were. For both of us."

Laurel jumped on the change of topic.

"You have every right to be angry. I hardly blame you."

"That's just it. I should be angry... I was angry, I think." He didn't sound so sure. "But I'm... okay with it, I guess. I wouldn't have done anything differently."

"I should have told you."

"You did, in a way," he reminded her. "You could have let me fight alone, but you stood by my side."

"I always will."

"Then where have you been these past few days?"

"A man is dead and I'm responsible," she told him darkly.

"No, I am."

They both knew this discussion could go on in circles for hours, so instead they said nothing more. Laurel was done bandaging him and Oliver used the opportunity to grasp her hand. Laurel looked at their entwined hands for a long moment. She had some explaining to do, not about Black Canary and her deception of him apparently but about her mother and the Chinese Consulate. They'd helped her arrange a meeting for tomorrow that would break her mother's heart, again, and she didn't know how to prepare her for that. Like a coward, she chose to hide behind smiles and safe topics and now she hid with him and his wound in her bedroom. She opened her mouth to say something, but Oliver beat her to it.

"Thea is coming home tomorrow," he announced hopefully. Laurel's spirits lifted a bit; at least someone she lo-... cared deeply about would have a good day.

"I'm glad," she answered gently, squeezing his hand between both of hers. "It's about time you got your sister back."

"I don't know that I will. I don't know if I can or should. Maybe you were right, maybe it would have been better if I'd left Oliver Queen on the island and come back as just the Hood."

"I didn't say that," she insisted.

"No, but you were right that I wanted to be Oliver Queen. Except I can't be him _and_ the Hood and there isn't enough of Oliver left. The innocence is gone."

"That's true for everyone and I think there's more of him in you than you realize. Or do you think the Hood would care about Oliver's little sister?"

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Big Belly Burger)_

Carly deposited two large slices of decadent cheese cake in front of them and, even though they were definitely full, they didn't protest too much at the delicious treat. With big grins the two old friends dug in, letting the sweet, creamy dessert melt on their tongues.

"We really shouldn't," Ted Gaynor noted, but without much guilt.

"Ah, we'll just do an extra lap around the park for training next time," Diggle suggested, not letting himself get too distracted from his dessert.

"Hmm, worth it," his old friend agreed easily. After another bite, he suddenly threw down the fork, gaining Diggle's attention. Looking up speculatively, Ted seemed to scrutinize him carefully. "You know, I'm really glad you joined us. Back together with the old team."

Diggle swallowed uncomfortably as he briefly thought of his new team. He quickly shook himself mentally to distance himself from those thoughts. It hadn't really been a team; the issue with Deadshot had revealed that. Oliver had made his choice and it hadn't included him, even though Diggle had thought they were partners, even friends. But Oliver had chosen to set his own needs before his and Diggle didn't want to be just a sidekick. He wanted to do something where he and his contribution mattered. Joining his old friend's security company had been the logical step as he'd needed both the job and something worthwhile to do with his skills.

"But?" Diggle prompted.

"But nothing," Ted replied with a small smile. "Though I admit I was a little surprised to hear from you. I thought you were happily babysitting the rich castaway... The money must have been better."

Diggle snorted.

"There are more important things than money – not that Queen would ever understand that." He felt a little guilty at defaming Oliver, because the man did understand, but he swallowed it down because Oliver had built that reputation himself. He was merely keeping to the disguise. "I wasn't... useful – at least it didn't feel that way – in that position, so I... came to you."

Ted picked his fork back up and shoved another piece of cheese cake into his mouth, nodding and smiling in understanding.

"And right you did," he commented cheerfully. "You're too good a soldier to waste your skills by cleaning up after some trust fund brat... or carrying around their shopping bags."

At Diggle's confused look, he pointed behind the veteran at the screen. Turning around, Diggle noticed a report about the Queen family running on the news channel. He noticed Thea in the thick of it and gestured to Carly immediately to raise the volume of the TV.

" _-the release of Thea Queen from Starling General. Recently afflicted by the far-reaching effects of the drug known as Vertigo, her return home is a silver lining for all families waiting for their loved ones to wake up. Though the hospital would not release an official statement, rumors that Ms Queen may have suffered some long-term effects from exposure to the drug are supported by her dazed state as she leaves the hospital. She did not seem like someone who is happy to return home to her family-"_

Diggle made a motion to cut the feed and Carly quickly muted the news. He nodded gratefully at her, but didn't turn back around to Ted. He was glad to hear that Thea was finally out of danger and that she was fit enough to return to her family. He wondered if she remembered her brother now and how they would move forward if she didn't.

"Terrible, what happened to that girl. And the others," Ted murmured when Diggle's attention remained focused on the screen.

"Yeah, she may sometimes act spoiled and entitled, but she's not a bad kid. She didn't deserve this."

"No one ever does." The shadow of their tours in the Middle East hung over them for a moment, all the death and despair they'd seen. The civilians had suffered the most and by the hands of all sides. Both of them had been soldiers too long to deny reality, though they had always done their best to do right by the people they had, after all, been sent to protect in a sense.

"Well, we better get going. Don't we have a job tonight?" Diggle asked.

"Yeah, a money transport for Starling Central Bank. With the recent string of robberies, they've become a bit nervous," Ted told him, shooing away Diggle's hand as he tried to pay and putting some money on the table himself.

"Who can blame them?" Diggle questioned, gesturing to the screen again. This time there was a report on the most recent robbery including grainy CCTV footage showing four robbers approaching the car and shooting what seemed to be a tear gas grenade through the window. Diggle shook his head incredulously. The gall of those robbers to approach the transport in the middle of a major street, even if it was mostly deserted at that time of night. "Do you think we should suggest that they wait till tomorrow? A robbery might be less likely in broad daylight."

"Tried that, but you know what bankers are like. They want the streets deserted cause they're afraid a rabid group of citizens might make a grab for it," Ted snorted derisively.

Diggle chuckled.

"Civilians, what can you do," they commiserated.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Queen Residence)_

Half the house had come outside to wait for Thea. They perked up when they saw a car approach from the driveway, until Oliver got out with an apologetic look. He got a few raised eyebrows and disapproving looks; the staff probably thinking that he'd spent the night with some pretty face. Which was true to some extent, since he'd spent the night being stitched up and then resting at Laurel's. So he ignored their judging eyes and jogged up to stand beside his stepfather.

"Are you alright? You look... exhausted," Walter commented.

"Might have to do with the emotionally draining conversation I've had with my... so-called girlfriend last night," Oliver pointed out with a meaningful nod. Walter's eyes widened as he understood whom Oliver was talking about, then his mouth dropped open when he continued. "Or maybe with getting shot by mom..."

Walter gasped for air.

"She what?"

"I confronted her yesterday."

"I thought you wanted to talk to her first."

"Plans changed."

"And you got shot."

Oliver grunted. "She was scared for herself and, more importantly, for Thea and me. Everyone I've taken down and she's the first to bring up her family," he whispered insistently.

"And that makes her innocent," he questioned dryly.

"No," he had to admit, " but arguing about it doesn't help. I- I can't be the one to go after her. I don't _see_ her, past being my mother."

"Mr Diggle..." Walter began, but Oliver interrupted him.

"Is no longer a part of this."

Walter opened his mouth to argue, but then decided to let the topic rest for the moment. It was clearly a painful issue, so he thought it better to discuss it later when things had calmed down.

"And your friend?" he asked his stepson instead.

 _'She's lost her way'_ he thought. _'I may have to move forward without her.'_

Oliver was about to answer when another car approached. He swallowed uncomfortably and made to move to the back of the group. Walter grabbed his arm to stop him, but Oliver simply continued to move away and Walter decided to let him go. By the time the vigilante had reached the very back of the queue of people who'd come to welcome his sister home, the car stopped at the front. His mother came out first; she'd gone to pick her up. The doctors hadn't wanted Thea to be overwhelmed as she still needed lots of rest. The drug and her disorientation had taken quite a toll on her.

He saw his mother look for him, but Oliver ducked behind the group unsure of how to deal with her. Especially since he had been allowed to see Thea over the last few days that she had been in the hospital, but he hadn't managed. After Diggle had quit, he'd jumped into the fray of his vigilante work to forget. Forget their broken friendship. Forget Laurel's secret pulling the ground from underneath his feet. Forget that his sister was waiting for him even though she still didn't remember him coming back to them.

When Thea followed their mother out of the car, Oliver's breath briefly stopped. She had become so thin that he could see the bones of her shoulders even through her blouse. She looked almost skeletal; Oliver closed his eyes in pain. He watched as Walter, Raisa and the rest of the staff greeted Thea enthusiastically, though they treated her delicately due to her frightening appearance. Walter remained at Thea's side with his mother on the other, while Raisa, after catching Oliver's eye, calmly got the staff to disperse.

As the people left, Thea caught sight of him for the first time. She stopped dead in her tracks when she noticed him. Oliver itched to go to her, to hug her and hold her to him tightly, the way he had wanted to do ever since she woke up. Instead he forced himself to remain still, leaning against the outer wall of the house. Slumped, he didn't pose much of an imposing figure, he hoped. Since he was so different from the Oliver in her memory, he hoped to seem more approachable to her, especially if he let her make the first move. He saw her swallow with difficulty, but then she took a few hesitant steps toward him.

Brother and sister looked at each other in silence.

"So, you're back," she said quietly, then bit down on her lower lip guiltily. "I mean... I-I'm glad you're b-back."

"And I'm glad you're home," Oliver murmured back.

A faint smile blossomed on her face. Then it died abruptly again when she continued.

"I'm sorry I thought you were... that you weren't real, but I..."

"Hey," Oliver cooed, trying to calm her, because tears had sprung unexpectedly into her eyes. "You were hurt. None of this is your fault. If... If memory loss is the price to get you back, I-I look forward to making new memories with you."

He felt somewhat guilty for plagiarizing Laurel's words of encouragement, but he couldn't see Thea cry because of him too. She'd gone through so much since he'd climbed aboard the Gambit and then again after he'd returned home. He didn't want to be the reason she was unhappy again. He breathed a sigh of relief when her tentative smile returned. He wiped the tears from her face briefly, before retreating back into his own shell, afraid to overwhelm her.

"That- I...I..." Thea struggled with words for a moment. Oliver just waited patiently for her to get her bearings. If he'd had practice in anything since coming back other than archery, it was in patiently waiting for a woman to reveal herself to him. But before Thea could say anything more, their mom had joined them and gently grasped Thea's arm.

"Come on, darling. You must be exhausted. And hungry. I asked Raisa to make buttermilk waffles. You always loved those. And your room is ready-"

His mother chattered away trivialities as she gently led Thea inside. She cast him an apologetic look for taking Thea away so quickly, but she was obviously worried with his sister's struggle to find her voice around him. Oliver was concerned too. He knew there was nothing for it, except wait for Thea to be ready to talk to him. His mother on the other hand, was a different problem. He looked over to find her picking at her waffles. Nothing seemed to indicate that she'd recently had a brush with the hooded vigilante. Conversation had been stagnant at the table so far, true, but not to mention the attack on her at all...

Oliver shook himself mentally; he would not be solving this during lunch. In the meantime he enjoyed watching his little sister dig into her waffles with spirit – at least he presumed there were waffles, since he couldn't see them because she'd drowned them in whipped cream, various fruit and chocolate sauce. He chuckled, drawing her attention to him. Oliver winked at her, earning himself an embarrassed but joyful grin.

"You always did have a healthy appetite," Oliver reminded her teasingly.

Thea's grin grew larger. She moved her dish to the side so that it rested halfway between them.

"I also always did like to share stuff with you. I remember that," Thea replied. "I even wanted to share with you when you didn't and I had to run after you to catch you."

"My little Speedy. Tommy and I never had a chance to hate playing with girls..."

"See; it was pedagogically valuable." She pointed with her fork to the waffles and Oliver finally picked up his utensils to shift the whipped cream in search of gold-brown waffles.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Verdant)_

Tommy hummed to himself while he counted the bottles in the shelf. The store rooms were right next to his office on the upper level of the club, so that most of the bottles had miraculously survived the attack of the Canary doppelganger. He would have to order more Vodka though before the re-opening party he had planned for Friday night; he lifted the neck of a broken bottle against the light with a sigh. Some of her throwing knives or whatever they were must have flown astray, or else she had tried to do as much damage as she could. She certainly had succeeded as far as the dance floor was concerned. Fortunately, Tommy's name had finally been useful for something. The new glass roof had been fitted just four days after the black bitch had crashed through it.

Tommy looked up at the ceiling, still feeling slightly queasy as he half-expected someone else to attack their unsuspecting party-goers from above on their second opening night. He wondered idly if he shouldn't have requested bullet-proof glass instead, but that would have taken weeks, even months and blown a hole in the club's budget. An even bigger hole, that is. He sighed again, shaking his head. He'd seen a gym not far from here in the Glades; maybe he should enroll in one of their boxing courses. Or hire professional killers as bouncers. Tommy chuckled at himself at the thought and threw the bottle into a nearby trash can. Footsteps were coming up from below at a leisurely place and Tommy wondered if Oliver had finally discovered a renewed interest in his own business, but the man he saw entering the store room when he glanced around the shelf wasn't his old friend.

A scowl appeared on Tommy's face when he recognized his father. A glance down the stairs revealed two of his bodyguards checking the area and Tommy's scowl deepened. Their hands were already on their guns.

"We're not expecting an invasion any time soon," he muttered loudly enough for his father to hear.

"After your inauguration it seemed a wise precaution," his father replied coolly.

Tommy scoffed.

"If you're here to offer me a job again, as you can see, I already have one," Tommy told him dismissively. He wondered what Malcolm was doing there. He practically hadn't heard from him since the man had threatened to cut him off if he didn't help Malcolm close his mother's clinic.

Malcom hesitated briefly, before pulling out a small piece of expensive-looking paper. An invitation, Tommy realized by the stylized characters he could just make out on it. It made him raise an eyebrow. Neither his nor his father's birthdays were close by, not could he imagine any other reason for the to celebrate.

"I know we... didn't exactly leave things well last time, but I'm about to be given Starling's Humanitarian Award and... I would very much like for you to be there," Malcolm finally told him, proffering him the invitation.

Tommy's eyes widened, though not in affection or joy. No, he was utterly incredulous as to Malcolm's balls for calling on him to attend his shin-dig after everything he'd said about his son previously, not to mention all the times he'd left him behind. Years, right after his mom's death when he would have needed his father the most. Anger bubbled up at him at his father's self-indulgence.

"And where were you when I ate my first hot dog at a baseball game? Where were you when I went camping with Oliver and his father? Where were you when- because I don't know! For years after mom... was killed, I had no idea where you were or if you were even still alive-"

"Tommy-"

"No, you weren't a father then, don't expect me to be a son now," Tommy interrupted him coldly.

For a moment, he thought he saw hurt flicker in his father's eyes and he felt a mixture of shame and satisfaction at having put it there. Then the shadow was gone from his face and Tommy wasn't sure if he had seen anything at all. He turned away painfully as his father took another step to come closer. The invitation was pressed against his chest in expectation of being held, but when nothing happened Malcolm simply let it go and walked away.

"I really do hope you change your mind, Tommy," he said as he left and Tommy watched the piece of paper sail to the ground. He didn't respond, not just because he didn't want to, but because after spitting all that venom his tongue suddenly felt heavy in his mouth. Malcolm's footsteps echoed of the walls as he sprinted down the stairs, but his son's gaze was fixed on the invitation with unexpected uncertainty. He looked back up to the shelves, but the thought of continuing to do inventory didn't appeal to him with this boiling mass of rage and worry inside.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Queen Mansion)_

He'd spent the day with Thea, for once not thinking about the city or its demons. Spending time with his little sister was nothing short of cathartic. He'd been so scared when she'd been comatose and then when she awoke his heart had nearly stopped when she had thought him to be a cruel trick of her mind. And even though she still didn't remember him coming back, she wasn't afraid of him anymore. Instead of pushing him away, she seemed to seek his company, practically clinging to him for the rest of the day; her long lost brother who'd returned from the dead. Oliver's heart twisted a little every time he thought about it, but he was glad she was happy and that she stayed close to him on her first day home.

The only thing that clouded his idyllic afternoon was the thought that, whether she ever remembered or not, Thea would be in for a bad wake up call soon. He didn't know what he feared more: that she might remember what an awful brother he had been recently or that he would have to return to being distant again, because the darkness across town would not wait too long for the vigilante. The Hood was needed, he just didn't know if he was needed more than Oliver Queen. Or which one of the two he himself needed more.

His cell phone ringing tore him from his thoughts. Pulling it out of his pocket, Oliver blinked at it a few times trying to pull himself together. When his head finally cleared, he had just enough time to recognize Tommy's name on the caller ID, before the phone was snatched from his hand with an impish giggle. He looked up, protesting, but only caught a brief glance of Thea's grinning face before she'd answered for him.

"This is Ollie's phone. He's sorry, but he can't answer right now, cause he's too busy chasing me across the lawn-" she started saying, then shrieked gleefully when he did just that. Thea ended the call and started in a mad dash across the green with Oliver hot on her tail and both of them laughing like madmen.

'Forget,' Oliver told himself. 'Just a little longer.'

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(CNRI)_

Laurel sat completely still trying to count her heartbeats. She didn't need to do that to know they were too fast and too erratic, but she thought it might actually calm her down. If nothing else, it gave her something to do till her parents arrived. She'd arranged to have them come pick her up for lunch, though that had been a thinly veiled excuse to get them both to CNRI. They knew she was mobile and could easily reach whatever restaurant they decided to meet at. Which begged the question if they realized she had an ulterior motive and if they were worried about what that might entail. Perhaps they thought it had to do with her nighttime activities, of which there hadn't been many since... since the mansion. She felt her heart rate spike again at the memory that loomed at the corners of her consciousness like a swirling black abyss ready to swallow her. She shook her head and bit her lip, pushing the thoughts down, her nails digging into the wood of her desk.

"Uh, Earth to Laurel...," Anastasia's voice drifted over to her. Her head shot up, but she looked at the other woman without understanding. Anastasia pointedly glanced at a spot behind her and Laurel turned around to find her parents waiting for her. She cast another glance at her colleague before standing up.

"Mom, dad, hi," she greeted them awkwardly.

The two looked at each other briefly.

"Are you alright, sweetie?" her mother asked full of concern.

"Hmm? Yeah, uh... yeah, I'm just... tired." That wasn't even a lie; she hadn't slept since... Another mental shake to put her back on topic and she smiled tentatively at her parents, indicating for them to follow her.

"You didn't call us here just for lunch, did you?" her father questioned, already suspecting something. Laurel had been reluctant to admit to the possibility of Sara's survival, not that he blamed her. He hadn't been to keen on it either when Dinah had first told him – it just seemed like such a futile wish – but he'd sat down with her and listened after Taylor had left with his grandparents and he couldn't help but hope. Just hope.

"Look, sweetie, I know it's hard to accept, but there's a real chance that Sara might still be out there and I-"

"That is we," her father corrected.

"- yes, we – your father and I need to find her. We need to at least try."

"And if you don't find her, then what? If it turns out that it was all in vain, you'll just snap back from all that crushed hope?" Laurel replied with a hint of anger. They seemed to think that it was easy for her, confirming her sister's death. As if she preferred it that way. "Dad, last time you sank onto the bottom of every bottle and it took ages to drag yourself back out and mom-"

"We know, honey, but wouldn't you want to know? Don't you want to make sure – if there's a chance-"

"But there isn't," Laurel stated carefully and watched their faces go white. The words burned on her tongue and in her throat and the look on her parents' faces made her heart go silent for a moment. Instead of saying anything else, she indicated the door to the conference room.

When both Dinah and Quentin hesitated, she went in first. On the other side of the long table, there was a young girl in a baseball cap. Laurel heard her mother's gasp when she recognized it from the photo she'd brought. She looked at Dinah while she fumbled for it in her pocket, pulling it out with shaking fingers. Laurel gently took the picture from her mother and held it out to the young woman she'd asked to come to CNRI.

"Ms Barns, do you recognize this picture?" she asked quietly.

"Yes," she answered, a little confused. "That's me during my holiday in Bangkok. A reporter was there for a series on unusual highlights and spotted me in the crowd. He asked if he could take a picture for the magazine and ask me some questions..." She trailed off when she saw the Lance family close their eyes painfully. "I'm sorry, is something wrong?"

"No, no," Laurel assured her as calmly as she could, though her voice was faint. She could hardly breathe; she couldn't imagine what this news was doing to her parents. "The... uh.. Chinese consulate identified Ms Barns and put us in touch. I asked her to come here to... I..."

She looked at her parents, at a loss for words. They looked so devastated, just as she had known they would. What had she done?! She hadn't wanted this! She just wanted to protect them.

"I'm sorry," she murmured softly, unable to prevent the tears from escaping now. "I didn't mean-"

Her mother gently touched her shoulder.

"We know, sweetie. It's just... too much," she reassured Laurel, squeezing briefly before practically fleeing from the room. Her father followed after Dinah with another glance. Laurel followed them both with her eyes as they brushed past Tommy on their way out. She absentmindedly signaled for him to wait for her when he glanced hesitantly in her direction, then sat back against the table and covered her face in her hands to quell the flow of tears.

"I don't understand," Ms Barns suddenly said, confused. "When you asked me here, I thought it was to... I don't know, I thought... not this. What was that?"

"Postponed gratification, hopefully," Laurel said tiredly. She wanted to laugh at the cruelty of it. It was Sara in the picture, but if she was alive, why had she never returned to her family? Laurel knew too little about her time after the shipwreck to let her parents tear apart the planet looking for her. If she was alive and yet had not returned, Laurel wanted to know why first. She wanted to find her sister – if she was to be found – and confront her and get answers.

Sara might not remember, like Thea. She might have no means of reaching them, though it was hard to believe that she couldn't gather enough for a phone call in five years. She might have stayed away deliberately and that would be the cruelest joke of all. Sara was often volatile in their childhood, but Laurel couldn't imagine a reason... But then, she'd fought that other woman and it made Laurel wonder... It made her worry.

Spotting something on the floor, she picked it up, only to realize it was her mother's picture of... Sara that she'd let fall on her way out. That brought on a new set of tears, but this time she brushed them away angrily. At Ms Barns' questioning glance, she shook her head and pulled out two hundred dollar notes to press into her hands. Her voice caught when Laurel continued. "Good luck with your career, Ms Barns. If today was any indication, you should be a sensation."

She left the young woman to find her own way out, unwilling to go into details she'd rather not think about herself. So it was a good thing that Tommy's face looked like an angry storm. If she concentrated on his turmoil long enough, maybe she'd forget twisting the knife she'd just put in her parents' backs. She hugged her friend just as Ms Barns rushed past them to the exit.

"What's with her? And what's with your parents? Are you alright?"

"Yes, just an... unwelcome reality check," she lied smoothly. "Besides, I should be asking you that. You look like it's only a matter of time before you need a lawyer."

"What would you say if I told you my father came to visit me at the club?"

"That if you're considering a world without him, we shouldn't talk about it because then it will be premeditated."

Tommy raised an eyebrow at her crass suggestion and Laurel sighed.

"Sorry, Tommy, I'm not really thinking straight. I just broke my parents' hearts..."

"How'd you do that?"

She showed him the picture.

"By proving that this isn't Sara."

It took Tommy a moment to place the name, because even after Oliver's return there had been hardly any talk of the young woman who'd accompanied him on the boat, except... well, except when he'd found out she and Laurel were sisters and it had thrown him for a loop. Tommy took a deep breath staring at the photo. Yeah, he could see how someone – especially someone desperate for their daughter to be alive – could mistake that woman for Sara. She had a similar build and facial features, as far as he could tell from the distance in the picture. They could be twins, he thought. Only knowing that Sara was dead made him realize that it had to be someone else.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled. "Here you are in an existential crisis and here I come with my petty disagreements with my father. I tried to call Ollie, but he was busy with Thea, so I thought... I'm such a-"

"Hero," Laurel interrupted him. "Please, distract me before I self-destruct."

Tommy weighed his options. He still had no business bothering her with his stupid little problem, but she looked so exhausted by her own world that maybe she really needed a way out and into someone else's.

"He asked me to come to this shindig for the Humanitarian Award. I told him where to stuff it, obviously. It's all just pretend anyway; a lot of rich assholes who occasionally donate some of the profits they gained on the back of other people's work to make themselves feel better. And then they celebrate themselves; it's... it's where I come from too, so maybe I shouldn't judge, but can you believe the nerve of my father?!"

Laurel slumped against her desk, cursing herself and her rotten luck for having to give another one of her loved ones unwelcome news. Could this day get any worse?

"Tommy, I could have supported my parents or just left it alone; I could have done a million things instead of what I did," she started. "I just destroyed my parents."

"Laurel, they'll understand-"

"It doesn't matter. Tommy, don't you see? It doesn't matter if they understand because it still hurts the same and I'm the one who caused that pain!" Laurel exclaimed turning a few heads in the office. She took a deep breath to continue. "But this isn't about me. The point is, you only got one father and I know you two are not exactly on the best of terms, but he's not a bad man. I've had to deal with people so much worse than him, their corporate practices would horrify you. People who let their tenants freeze or go to jail because they hide drugs in their cellars or who use their business at the docks to smuggle weapons, drugs and people into town to be sold."

She looked up at him.

"Your father may not be dad of the year, but he can't be that bad, can he?"

Tommy sat down next to her.

"He seemed... hurt when I refused."

"So he cares about you."

"Or about how it would look."

"Then he wouldn't be hurt, he'd be angry," Laurel pointed out.

"It'll be boring."

"A small price to pay."

"I don't want to go alone."

"Then invite someone to come along."

"I thought I just did."

She looked at him surprised. His eyes were pleading, but playful.

"Alright, but there'll be no canceling at the last minute."

"Deal."

It wasn't like she had much else to do these nights.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Security Company)_

Diggle and Ted gave each other a high five when they reentered their headquarters that night. Everything had gone off without a hitch; the armed robbers hadn't even been spotted along the way. Perhaps the second armored vehicle escorting the transport had given them pause. In any case, everyone would return safe and sound to their families that night and that needed to be celebrated.

"This calls for a night on the town," Ted called and the men cheered. "First round is on me!"

The cheering picked up a notch at that promise, making Diggle smile. It was good to work with his old army buddy again. True, he'd had some qualms about some members of his security team, but they'd acted cordially and very professionally throughout the entire trip. They'd been focused on their job and always kept an eye on the money transport and the roads they'd crossed.

Their system, though slightly less formal, was the same as in the army, making them run like a well-oiled machine. It felt cathartic to work with guys whom he understood without talking. Because they shared the same background and training, they often thought along the same lines. It wasn't like with Oliver; getting information from him was like pulling teeth and he never took any advice and he never talked about his plans and it had driven Diggle mad.

The veteran couldn't help the small smile that came to him unbidden as he picked up his free beer. Then he thought about the reason he left, the image of Oliver and Laurel kneeling over a dead Lawton and he drowned his smile in large gulps of his drink. Perhaps he placed it on the table a little more forcefully than was strictly necessary, because the boys all turned their heads toward him. Most of them returned to their own conversation soon enough, but Ted eyed him with suspicion.

"You don't look like a man enjoying his beer," he pointed out. "Even though you were smiling a second ago."

"I was just thinking of the news that the kid got out of the hospital," Diggle answered evasively. "Which made me think about her brother, which made me think about why I quit and-"

He stopped himself abruptly. Ted took a moment to weigh his words, before continuing.

"From what you told me, Queen may be a brat, but he was quite brave to offer refuge to that little boy. It's hardly his fault his security guard got to Deadshot before you did; the guy was just doing his job and he paid a steep price," Ted tried to reason. Diggle nodded absentmindedly; he had stayed as close to the truth as possible when he told his old friend why he needed a change of occupation, which did make it sound somewhat petty of him.

Of course, John also realized that Oliver had had little choice in the moment but to kill Lawton before he could kill Laurel or him – but it was his choice before that one, his choice to exclude Diggle that really bothered the veteran. He thought he could trust Oliver, that the man was on his side after he learned what Lawton had done. Yet Oliver had let him down when he had the chance to make it right in his grasp.

"It doesn't change how I feel about it," he finally told Ted with a helpless shrug.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining. The Queens' loss is my gain, but – you know – it doesn't have to end so bitterly."

"You're right. Maybe I should talk to the family," Diggle agreed, but remained deliberately vague about which family. Ted shot him a brief smile and joined the others, realizing that Diggle needed some time to himself. The veteran emptied his beer and went to the bar to order another. On the TV screen he saw another repeat of the latest robbery and this time he paid it more attention. His first impression had been right. Their procedure was based on military strategy, but the fact that they just shot down the men saving themselves from the gas in the truck showcased their blunt brutality.

They let themselves be filmed, but they wouldn't leave a single witness alive. He glanced back at his table. In the army, he would have thought a few of them capable of a number of transgressions, from illegal matches to manhandling civilians, and, though Ted had sworn them changed men, a bad feeling remained. Diggle bit his lip and pulled out his cell phone while he ordered more beers for his so-called friends. He typed quickly and surreptitiously while he waited, but when it came to hitting send, he still hesitated for a beat. Then two.

Another glance at the table. He indicated the beers accumulating in front of him and an answering cheer arose from the men, including Ted. His friend Ted, whose career was on the line if it turned out that he hadn't noticed his men's activities. A flash of the robbery, the innocent men being shot.

Diggle changed the addressee and pressed send.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(The port)_

Moira breathed in deeply, the fresh, salty air filling her lungs and lending her the same calm that seemed to hold the ocean that day. She bit her lip, but not nervously. She thought she would be more nervous, particularly after her – various – disagreements with Quentin on whether or not to proceed with his little undercover mission to stop the plan. She briefly closed her eyes, wondering what he would think of her if he knew what she herself had planned herself today.

Moira expected her heart rate to go up, expected to be prompted to look around herself anxiously, expected to feel so much more conflicted... Instead she was about to order the death of a man, one of her husband's long-time friends and his murderer, and all she felt was calm. She was at peace with herself over the murder she wanted to commit.

Technically, she had already ordered the hit, but she had been asked for a final confirmation now that the time had come. The Triads couldn't afford someone's bleeding heart and last-minute hesitation to compromise their operations, so they wanted her to commit to the order she had given. Moira looked out to sea and thought of Robert, who died, and Oliver, who'd nearly followed him to his grave. She could not be more resolute if she wielded the gun herself.

As she had, not long ago. When the vigilante had showed up at her office, she'd not been as surprised as she thought she'd be. She had known for a while that he was working his way through the list and, though she was not on it per se, she had expected a visit sooner or later. It had been surprisingly easy to shoot him, even after he'd lowered his bow.

"What am I becoming?", she whispered to herself.

Someone cleared their throat behind her. Turning around, Moira found a young Chinese woman with dyed white hair and sunglasses. She raised her eyebrow a little. She was not particularly inconspicuous in her black leather jacket and combat boots. Still, Moira nodded at her in greeting and kept her thoughts to herself. Best not to antagonize her.

"There's been a slight change in plans," the woman announced quietly, joining her.

Moira frowned.

"Why?" she asked simply, fearing Malcolm had discovered her plan.

"Our assassin has been unfortunately... stabbed. We have made other arrangements," the woman replied cryptically and Moira's heart stopped. Lawton, the man who'd broken into her home and had killed all those people. It had to be him; he'd been stabbed with a poker by one of the guards. She swallowed with difficulty, thinking that the assassin she'd hired had almost killed her son.

"We didn't know his previous engagement would take him to your home," the Chinese woman said calmly as if reading her thoughts. "This will not be a problem with the new hire."

Moira stopped breathing altogether for a moment. Her son nearly died again, because of her dealings with the Triads. If that wasn't a sign, she didn't know what was. Perhaps this was a bad idea, she thought, about to call off the attack. She opened her mouth to say it and then an image of Thea flashed through her mind, frail and alone in a hospital bed...

She closed her mouth and nodded.

"Make sure there are as little casualties as possible. Particularly as I will be there too."

"Of course. No client, no money," she assured Moira, making the Queen matriarch shudder.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(CNRI)_

Tommy had barely been gone for half an hour when she received a text. At first she thought he wanted to back out after all, but then she saw it came from Ted and he was asking her to call him. He'd been doing that a lot recently. She had largely ignored him, because... because what could she say... That her hands trembled when she thought of Floyd Lawton. That she kept flashing back to the moment his eyes went dark. That she wondered again and again what she could have done differently... If only she hadn't let herself be distracted by Oliver, the dead men on the ground, the revelations of that hour, perhaps...

She shook herself out of it. She had to get though this. She wasn't ready to hang up the hood yet. Not by a long shot. But she couldn't face the streets just then. Ted knew that; she'd told him as much and he'd promised to give her space. So when he did call, it was to ask her how she felt or if she needed help. This message, however, limited itself to ask her to call him.

Biting her lips, she left her desk to go up to the roof, indicating her phone at Anastasia's inquisitive look. Once there, she paced back and forth a few times, before taking a breath to calm herself.

"Laurel?" Ted answered cautiously.

"Yeah, it's me," she confirmed unnecessarily. "Uh... what's wrong?"

"Huh? Oh, right. Um, Diggle sent a text last night. I didn't know whether or not I should call you, but..."

He left the rest of the sentence hanging. Laurel chewed on her lip a little harder.

"I'll just... send it to you and then you can decide if... uh..." He sighed. "Laurel, I know you need space, but... the longer you wait, the harder it will be to get back in the saddle."

"I know."

"Then what are you waiting for?" He didn't manage to keep all of the frustration out of his voice.

"A man is dead because of my actions."

"And standing in the corner whining about it is going to help revive him or what?"

"No-"

"Then what?"

"Ted, you can't-"

"Understand it? Yeah, I can. I was a soldier, remember? I still remember my first kill. I wanted to hide from the world then, too, but if you think this is going to get better while you cower under a blanket, you're wrong. It's just gonna get worse and worse until it completely paralyzes you. Don't. Let. It," he instructed through gritted teeth.

"It's not that easy," Laurel responded forlornly.

"Nothing ever is. Doesn't mean you don't try. You gotta push through this, so read the text and get your butt moving," Ted ordered roughly. "Or I'll kick it into gear for you."

She couldn't help the small amused giggle that escaped her at the threat. Ted was a good fighter, but the thought that he could kick her ass was ludicrous.

"Or, you know," he went on cheekily, "Get your mother to do it for me."

That sobered Laurel up quickly.

"Leave my mother out of it," she told him, harsher than she'd intended. When she heard him suck in a surprised breath through the line, she cursed herself. "Just... out of everything for a bit. She- I-"

She stopped talking altogether and hung up. As promised, the text reached her phone moments later. Her eyes widened in surprise when she read it. In a dash, she raced down to the office to grab her coat and purse and made it out the door.

ArrowArrowArrowArrowArrowArrow

 _(Security company)_

Even though nothing dramatic had happened during his shift, Diggle felt exhausted when he clocked out. No doubt the effect of the late night he'd had, so he turned down the drinking offer Ted made him for when he and a couple of others finished their shift.

"Not tonight."

"Some other time, then," Ted replied good-naturedly.

Diggle was about to reply when someone called his name. He looked up to find a young woman waving at him from behind the bulky body of a security officer. Diggle frowned, wondering what Laurel was doing here. Surely Oliver wouldn't stoop so low as to send his girlfriend to pacify him.

"Ah, now I see. You have plans already," Ted said, coming up beside him. "Good on you, pal."

"Actually, I-"

"No need to apologize. I wouldn't want to hang out with our sorry bunch if I could spend some quality time with your lovely lady either," he told Diggle smiling, while waving at the security guard to let her through. "But at least introduce us."

When Laurel reached them, she gave Diggle a gentle hug, taking him almost by surprise. Perhaps she had read the situation right and the looks on the men's faces, but Diggle still couldn't help but question what she was doing at the company. Laurel put on a look of innocent inquisitiveness.

"You texted me," she reminded him. At his look of confusion, she raised an eyebrow. "Last night."

Diggle frowned.

"Aww, man, you must have been really smashed if you don't remember texting such a stunning woman," Ted announced to a round of cheers, patting him on the back.

"And apparently he's also forgotten his manners," Laurel teased, extending a hand. "Laurel Lance."

"Ted Gaynor, and this is my band of merry men," he introduced himself and another cheer rose as they shook hands. Laurel's smile was soft, but Diggle knew her well enough to see the ice hiding in her eyes. Before he could ponder it, Ted turned to him with another clap on the back. "Get your lovely lady out of here, before one of us decides to steal her away."

There were laughs and Ted seemed to say it in good humor, but Diggle noticed something in his eyes too. He couldn't place it, but it brought him back to the conversation they'd had last night as his boss rejoined his team. Diggle offered Laurel his arm to continue with the farce and led her out of the building to his car when she took it. He pulled out of the parking lot and stopped again a block or two away as he had no intention to leave yet. But first, he had to deal with Laurel.

"Ms Lance, look, I don't know if Oliver sent you or if you're trying to play peacemaker by yourself, but-"

"I wouldn't dream of getting in between the two of you. You're grown-ups, at least theoretically. Whatever your issue is, you can bloody well deal with it yourselves," she told him crisply, slightly offended even that he would insinuate that she was Oliver's errand girl. Now if only she would take her own advice – wouldn't that be something?!

"Uh..."

"I really am here about your text from last night," she prompted.

Diggle's mind rebelled at the discrepancy, because he hadn't texted her last night. He hadn't drunk nearly enough to forget something like that, he'd had no reason to text her and, if he had forgotten any texting, he would have forgotten wanting to text Oliver about his suspicion, but he hadn't even done that because he had texted Black Canary instead.

His mind ground to a halt. He looked at her. She looked back at him expectantly, both eyebrows raised now until his obvious surprise and confusion gave her a realization of her own.

"I thought he'd told you," she offered quietly.

"We haven't spoken since that night," he replied just as quietly.

"Oh," was all she managed. Then she shook herself. "Well, let's make the best of it. You said you know who robs the money transports."

"Well, I suspect... They use military strategy and they must be inside jobs because they know exactly when and where to snag the money."

"You think it's your colleagues," she concluded, making him look up surprised. Laurel shrugged. "I recognize ex-military when I see them."

Diggle frowned.

"You must have led an interesting life."

"Not as interesting as Oliver's."

The veteran chuckled.

"Only because we know so little about it." Not that he knew much more about the woman beside him. "There's something else I should tell you."

 _Flashback  
(The bar, previous night)_

 _After another round or two, Diggle excused himself for a piss and a smoke. When he cleared the door of the stuffy bar, he felt like the fresh air gave him new life. He pulled out his pack of cigarettes and pulled one from the package, but he hesitated to light it. There were too many thoughts whizzing around his mind, so he just tapped the coffin nail against the package and looked up at the sky. Glancing around, he half expected the vigilante to show up, her silhouette forming out of the shadows of a dark corner._

 _Instead he suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder. It was too large and heavy to be Black Canary's and he'd heard the door to the bar open anyway, so he was unsurprised to find Ted coming out to join him. He offered him a lighter and only now did Diggle start to smoke._

 _"You left rather abruptly," Ted pointed out._

" _I just needed some fresh air," Diggle replied evenly._

" _Clear your head?" the other man asked, a note of suspicion in his tone. Diggle knew he'd been found out. Ted knew what he was thinking about, at least he suspected._

" _Do you ever think-"_

" _No," his friend answered simply before he could even finish. Maybe too quickly. Ted lit himself a cigarette, before he went on. "Look, I know what you're thinking and why. I've seen the video footage. I've seen how they operate. It's all too precise for civilians."_

 _"Then you agree."_

" _On that, yes. I'd have to be blind not to see it," Ted acquiesced. "But that's the extent of it... It wasn't any of my men."_

" _You gotta admit it's suspicious. You know their reputation."_

" _Yes, but civilian lives change you. In the war they had a purpose, but they were also under constant threat. You remember the pressure. Now they're safe – or as safe as can be – but they're adrift in a society that doesn't need them or value them. That's why I started recruiting them. Minimal training required and I can give veterans a purpose again. They've got a steady job, decent income. A reason to get up in the mornings, not a reason to commit crimes."_

" _Everyone deserves a second chance?" Diggle asked, not entirely convinced, though it twisted something in his gut to doubt his friend._

" _Perhaps even Oliver Queen?" Ted asked back. Diggle's eyes widened for a moment. A not so subtle hint; if he was unable to work with the men, perhaps this was the wrong job for him. The veteran took another pull from his cigarette, looking at the night sky._

" _No, you're right. I feel better having a purpose, too. I feel useful again, in a way that I didn't playing babysitter," he admitted as calmly as he could, trying not to let his remaining doubts shine through. A clap on his back._

" _I know," Ted told him with a smirk._

 _End Flashback_

"There was something in his tone and in what he said... A thinly veiled threat that gave me pause."

Laurel nodded gravely.

"What do you want to do about it?"

Diggle hesitated for a second.

"There's a transport scheduled for tonight," he finally informed her and Laurel caught his drift. She bit her lip. Was she ready for this, she wondered. Then she looked into Diggle's hopeful eyes. Did she have any excuse not to be? He needed her. He needed a friend and a partner. True, she could ask Ted, but maybe she should...

"What about Oliver?"

"We haven't spoken since that night," he repeated stoically.

"Then perhaps it's time," she suggested hopefully, but his face was closed off. She'd have to call Ted. She didn't want to do this alone.

 **End of Part I**

 **A/N:** This one is a bit longer again, but I didn't know where else to do the break. Hope you enjoyed it anyway!


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